


The Coin

by Muphrid



Category: Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuuutsu | The Melancholy of Suzumiya Haruhi
Genre: Drama, Science Ficiton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 98,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muphrid/pseuds/Muphrid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the ever-enthusiastic brigade chief discovers her powers thanks to the high price of a can of Coca-Cola.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It used to be, when I was younger, my mother would would see me off to school from our doorstep. She’d look to the sky and smile if it were sunny, as if those golden rays empowered her to get through the day, but if it were cloudy, if a storm gathered in the distance, she’d tell me to be careful, to stay safe. “Looks like we’ll just have to ride this one out,” she’d said once. She knew it was necessary, but she didn’t care for rain. I guess most people don’t.

I realized pretty quickly that set me apart from other people. When there’s bad weather on the horizon, people are always waiting for the next sunny day, to the calm that comes _after_ the storm. Most people, but not me. If there were raindrops falling or trees swaying in the wind, you couldn’t pry me away from the window. I’d sit for hours, watching until the first patch of sunlight broke through. It wasn’t just the thrill of the storm. I looked forward to clouds and thunderbolts in a gray sky because the first sign of a tempest changes people. It makes them prepare or panic. They make runs on the grocers’ and stockpile bottled water or canned corn. The birds and the dogs in our neighborhood grew restless long before my mother and father would. I welcomed those storms—the chaotic days and restless nights. Each squall and wind gust was an expression of Mother Nature. She was dissatisfied with the routines and rhythms of humanity. She sent rain and lightning to rouse us from our stupor, to make us wake up.

That all changed, of course. By the time I was in middle school, I had other things on my mind, and if I wanted to go outside and look at the stars or just breathe in the wind, a storm could be really inconvenient. All the same, I can still recognize the signs when a storm front is near—or I could, if I tried. What I realized in June my second year was that a good storm didn’t excite me anymore. I’d stopped paying attention to the old man at the market, rubbing his joints to relieve the pressure, the pain. I forgot to listen for the calls of birds or their silence when a violent squall was about to hit. To me, a clear, cloudless day, with but a light breeze to blow the humidity away, was just as well. In fact, if Mother Nature had sent a storm over North High School while we were on lunch break that day, I think I’d have had a harsh word or two for her.

To the sound of coffee cans clunking against the bottom of a chute, I took the time to digest what’d happened in morning classes. Of late, the teachers are really starting to drill us for entrance exams, and that’s fine. That’s expected, even, but it feels like it’s not enough. I don’t want to keep a list of the top ten facts about the Meiji Restoration on the back of my hand. Tell me that it was something big and important—that when Tokugawa stepped down and ended the shogunate for good, it was a sign. Japan would never be the same again. Japan would never be able to keep to itself again. It changed the way we live, and you can see that every day. Whenever you buy a pair of headphones that say _Sony_ on the side or a car with a three-diamond ornament on the front, you see something that goes back to that time, that wouldn’t exist without that change in how we live our lives.

I’ve watched all our classmates scribble down notes furiously. I wonder sometimes if they ever thought to do more than just copy, copy, and copy some more.

That’s something I used to think about a lot—that too many people are caught up in routine. They wake up, they go to school or work, they come home, they touch another person or touch themselves, and they sleep. Then they do it all over again the next day. Even Mother and Father were like that, and for a while, I thought it didn’t matter if I loved them because they were mindless automatons like the rest of humanity. I think I’ve realized, over this past year, that that’s not true, either. It’s not that other people don’t have the same thoughts I do. It’s not that they don’t have the vision to look to the stars and see aliens, to look in a mirror and see through into their own souls or others’. They just don’t have the time, or they gave up on it long before. They made peace with the world and accepted it, whether there were greater things out there to look for…

Or not.

I sat at the base of a tree in the center courtyard, watching my schoolmates pass by. A half-dozen or so had formed a queue for the vending machines, and I studied them. They talked about things—different things. What were the chances North would make it to Summer Kōshien? When would that voice actress get surgery for her brain tumor, and would it change her voice forever? Pretty ordinary things, if you ask me, but I felt like I understood it. If you’re not looking for time-travelers in your midst, chatting about baseball tournaments or anime doesn’t sound too bad.

But at that moment, I wasn’t concerned with distant things like what was on television or who scored a ninth-inning run. The sun was shining on me. Its midday light cast too narrow a shadow to find shade and still be in the open. I was getting thirsty, and I had just enough, after buying my lunch, to join the line for drinks and get over it before class.

“Oh,” said a girl. “Oh no…”

In the line for soda, the little dark-haired girl—a first-year, I guessed—shook an empty coin purse in vain.

“You don’t have enough?” said her friend.

“It can’t be,” said the first girl. “I had a thousand yen in here!”

“You don’t think your sister took it? For her date last night?”

“She wouldn’t!” But the first girl closed the coin purse with a _snap_. “She must’ve. How much do you have?”

The second girl held up a single coin. “Just a hundred.”

And that was a pity. See, I had three fifty-yen coins in my hand, and I needed them. I mean, if I happened to flip one of them idly, if it flew out of my reach and roll at those first-years’ feet, well…

Well, you’d think they’d be smart enough to pick it up and not question things.

“Um, _Sempai_ …” The first girl bent at her waist, fingering the rim of the silver, hollow coin. “Did you drop this?” she asked.

“Not me,” I said.

The second girl blinked. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, pretty sure. Must be your lucky day, finding the change you needed.”

“Thank you so much!” said the first girl, bowing. “We won’t forget this, will we, Yuka?”

“Of course not,” said the second. “Thank you!”

“ ‘Thanks’?” I echoed. “I didn’t do anything. Get your drink and move on, won’t you?”

The first-years looked at each other, and I guess they finally got it. They bought a soda and trotted off, but they called back as they rounded a corner, smiling. “Thanks again!”

I said it, didn’t I? I had no hand in it, and even if I did, so what? If someone does you a good deed, let them be. The real, genuine people don’t need to be thanked for it. They don’t need your gratitude. If they say otherwise, then they’re not doing it for you. They’re doing it for themselves, and they shouldn’t be thanked anyway. I hate that feeling—that something you did, which _should_ be for someone else actually serves you instead. I’ve felt that once. I’ll never forget it.

And I wouldn’t forget that, now that those two girls had gone, I was the one who ended up fifty yen short.

I stepped aside and punched a sequence of buttons on my phone. If nothing else, I had a batch of three other visionaries, seekers of the extraordinary and unusual like I was. With their unquestioned loyalty, they’d answer my call, but they weren’t the ones I sent that message to.

“Oi.” The recipient of my mail walked up to me, his eyebrows furrowed, a phone in his hand. “Is this your idea of a summons?” he asked curtly.

Yeah it is, though it’d have been more timely and effective if it hadn’t taken you ten minutes to respond.

“Don’t just tell me you’re somewhere ‘outside’ next time, and I’ll find you faster,” he said. “And don’t start your message with ‘I need you’ and expect not to be misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood how?” I asked.

He scowled but looked away. “Well? What is it now? Energy beings hiding in the sun’s rays? Sliders making portals in the walls?”

Why do you even bother coming if you’re not going to be serious when you get here?

“Because I know the dungeon master who’s in charge around here,” he said, “and she would definitely have smitten me by my next turn if I didn’t answer.”

Jerk. I ignored his remarks, though, and put my first two coins—fifty yen each—down the slot of a soda machine. “I need to borrow something from you,” I told him. “Consider it forgiveness of penalties in advance.”

“I’m supposed to pay you tardy penalties for events that haven’t even happened yet?” He scratched his head, pondering. “Actually, that’d be about the nature of things around here, wouldn’t it.”

“Just hurry and lend me another fifty, will you? I’m thirsty.”

“Why?”

Why am I thirsty? Well, I guess it all goes back to when the first six-celled organism withered and died because it didn’t know it needed water, leaving the rest of the evolutionary chain to—

“I mean, why do you need my money?” He pointed to the seven-segment display on the machine. “Looks like you’re fine to me.”

150\. One, five, and zero. Those were the digits on the display. I’d put in two fifty-yen coins, but that’s not what it read.

I pushed the white plunger next to the display, and at the bottom of the machine, two coins rattled in the return slot. One was smaller and had a hole in the center, with chrysanthemums raised from the metal on either side of the gap. The other was larger and solid, with cherry blossoms taking up the center instead. A fifty-yen coin, a one-hundred-yen coin. Any child could tell the difference. Any moron would know, by feel or by sight, what value of coinage she had.

“Wait a minute. You dragged me out here. Aren’t you at least going to buy a drink?”

I could’ve. You might say I _should’ve_ , but thirst is a temporary thing. It comes from our flawed human bodies, which hold our minds but don’t command them. I understood what’d been happening when I held those coins between my fingers. _He_ might tell me to ignore it, to let it go and get on with my life like any normal human being would. What could I learn about the world from two round pieces of copper and nickel? Maybe nothing, I could admit, but maybe something.

Maybe, I thought to myself, it was time to look to the sky again and be excited when I saw a dark cloud there.

The boy beside me checked his phone and sighed. “Well, stay if you like, Haruhi,” he said. “I’m not going to be late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve thought for some time it’d be a good change of pace to write a _Haruhi_ story from her perspective instead of Kyon’s. In a lot of ways, it’s a challenging task—how do you get across the conflicts and intrigues when Haruhi is largely outside those discussions? I hope to depict those plots well in this story, for Haruhi learning and understanding her own abilities is nothing short of a game-changer for all the players—Koizumi, Asahina, Nagato, and Kyon—but most of all, this is a way for me to explore the character of Haruhi. What’s to stop a person with godlike powers from remaking the world as they please? What would stop her, if anything at all? Would that power make her truly happy?
> 
> Those are a subset of the questions I hope to tackle. It’s my hope that this story—which I envision being roughly the length of a _Haruhi_ novel—answers them adequately, at least for one writer’s interpretation, one writer’s vision of what could be.
> 
> In truth, I’ve had the idea for this story rumbling around in my head for some time. I was actually a little off-put when I heard that _The Surprise_ wouldn’t be the last novels in the series, as it makes things more problematic in terms of establishing where these characters would be and what issues they’d face. Nevertheless, I feel this is a story worth telling. It’s my hope that further novels don’t entirely obviate what I’m trying to do with this tale, but I accept the risk that that may happen.
> 
> This is the second version of the prologue; the first, I think, painted Haruhi in an improper light. I’m very grateful to Brian Randall and Henry Cobb for pointing out the problems with that first version.


	2. Prologue

So I kept the coins. I didn’t buy a drink. A can of soda isn’t worth giving up a glimpse of something unusual, but by the time two o’clock arrived, I was starting to regret my decision. I was thirsty—no, I was dying. I was parched like the plains of Antarctica. Can you believe that? That Antarctica is drier than any other place on Earth? You wouldn’t think so, but I’ve always believed the truth is strange, so I accepted it right away.

I was thirsty, though, and I wasn’t going to admit it or duck out of the classroom like it was an emergency. Some people would undoubtedly notice, especially if they were called _Kyon_. I know that’s stubborn, but I won’t apologize for it. I’ve always believed that feelings of thirst and hunger were just primordial, instinctive weaknesses. Do you know how long people have been on this earth? Millions of years. Who know when they stopped being dumb animals and started thinking intelligently. The point is this: people have made huge evolutionary strides. You’d think we’d have had enough time to grow beyond these inconvenient feelings. We should be glowing white energy beings by now, feeding off the light of the sun or something. Even plants can do that. All these instinctive sensations—hunger, arousal, fatigue, fear—they’re distractions. They don’t do anything useful except keep us alive and procreating.

We should do more than that. We should be better than that.

It didn’t matter if I went into afternoon classes thirsty or distracted. The morning was out of the way. This was the easy stuff. The moment of inertia is the mass times the square of the distance. The torque is the force times the distance times the sine of the angle between the two. Easy. I think I knew all that in middle school. I generally have a rule: the best way to go through class is to keep your mind empty of other things. It’s a good rule, and it works, but that day, with those two coins in front of me, it was going to be a challenge to keep my mind on the board and nowhere else. I looked out the window. I slid two reeded-edged coins across my desk, working that hour at lunch through my mind. I’d _misplaced_ that third fifty-yen piece of mine that those girls picked up. I had two left. They were identical in every way.

There were a few interesting possibilities—an alien invasion, for instance. People touch coins all the time, you know. The aliens could be using vending machines to surreptitiously change out the money supply, to substitute their radioactive or drug-laced coins for our own. It would be the first-strike in an all-out war!

“Oi,” said Kyon, muttering to his desk. “Can’t you contain your excitement back there, for the sake of people who actually have to listen?”

Why should I? That’s what makes people boring sometimes. They smile and nod dutifully when they want to jump up and down and shout. It’s dishonest. More people should show what they really want and not be so intimidated that they hide it.

“Suzumiya-kun!”

I sat upright. “Yes, Teacher?”

“Are you paying attention?”

“Yes, Teacher.” Like anyone would say any different.

“Then you can tell me the limit of the sequence on the board?”

I squinted. _2, 9/4, 64/27…_

“Euler’s number,” I said.

There was a gasp in the classroom. Kyon turned all the way around in his seat.

“What?” I said. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

The teacher frowned, returning to lecture. “As Suzumiya-kun says, the answer is indeed Euler’s number, _e_. One typically sees this identity as a limit: as _n_ goes to infinity, the sum of 1 and 1/ _n_ is raised to the _n_ th power, like so…”

Kyon shook his head, turning back around to face the board. “Lend me some of your casual knowledge,” he muttered, “so I can make perfect marks without thinking, too.”

Answer my call a little faster next time, and maybe I’ll have a few minutes to teach you something.

Teacher left me alone for the rest of his time, and I pushed the coins back and forth across my desk again. It was a bit early to assume there was a full-on alien conspiracy to contaminate the Japanese monetary supply—that I admit. After all, I had only one coin I thought had been changed. You’d need at least five or seven to be reasonably sure of all that, to rule out all the mundane, simple explanations that normal people would assume.

By the time the final bell rang, I had a good list of the more interesting possibilities. Aside from an alien conspiracy, I figured the likely candidates were these: an unknown, undiscovered element disrupting the vending machine mechanism, the hole in the fifty-yen coin being used as a gateway for sliders, and…hm, I can’t remember the last one—

“Aren’t you a bit too far into Haruhi-land today?”

Packing up his things, Kyon stood in front of his desk, eying me.

“Haruhi Land?” I said. “You think we should have an SOS Brigade theme park?”

“What? What on earth would give you—”

“We could have a roller coaster!” I said. “We could make a giant Mikuru-chan ride, with the curves and loops going around her huge—”

Kyon slapped both hands over my mouth. Looking over his shoulder, he laughed nervously. “It’s all right!” he told the class. “Nothing to see here. Nothing at all!” He narrowed his eyes, whispering to me. “Be serious, will you?”

I pulled his wrists away. “I’m always serious.”

“That’s what frightens me most,” he said. “All right, forget the theme park, at least for today. What was it that had you goofing off in class before now, hm?”

“You’re interested?”

“I’m interested in getting a head start on trouble.”

“And why am I trouble?”

“Do I really need to answer that?”

I scowled, but I let it go. Kyon can be that way sometimes—resistant and stuffy. If the SOS Brigade gazes into the precipice of the unknown, then sometimes I think Kyon is always checking over his shoulder, making sure he can see the ground we’re standing on. That used to irritate me before, and sometimes, it still does. When I came to North High, I thought it would be full of wild and interesting people, but it wasn’t. Half our class I already knew from middle school. The other half seemed about the same. It was nothing like I’d heard about, nothing like I thought it would be, but there was this guy in front of me who had the courage to ask questions. Sometimes they were dumb, but he asked them anyway, not caring if I thought he was an idiot for asking. He gave me the idea for the SOS Brigade, and that’s why we’re here today. I realized later that the fair thing to do would be to give Kyon his due credit for that.

But not too much.

Besides, that day I could see that he and I weren’t quite on the same wavelength. I told him what I thought of the coins from lunchtime, and the first thing out of his mouth was,

“Oh, it’s a glitch.”

Well, no kidding it could be a glitch! Use your imagination for a second, won’t you?

“An alien conspiracy to replace our pocket change.” He frowned. “Hm, I guess that’s a reasonable conclusion.”

Good, now you’re getting it…wait, what did you just say?

“It all makes sense,” he said, nodding solemnly. “The Haruhi I know would never be so fascinated by some simple mechanical glitch. It’s not in her nature. She’s always looking for gremlins from neutron stars or something like that. She’d find something so trivial as a computer chip making an error utterly boring. No, aliens are the only explanation. The extraterrestrials have conspired to make my life easier by making an exact duplicate of you—that is, of the real Haruhi—and toning down her proclivity for bizarre plots and ideas. I must say, I’m very pleased with their work.”

I think I’d know if I were something as extraordinary as an alien. Or a clone. Or an alien clone. I’m not going to turn into some giant, naked monstrosity and bring humanity together in some orange-colored soup. I’m Suzumiya Haruhi, and that’s that.

“Oh, so they programmed you to think you were Haruhi, too? Well, maybe it’s for the best. If you’re more normal or more easily fascinated by mundane things, perhaps it’ll make all our lives easier. After all, with Haruhi’s looks and a tweaked mindset, I must say—”

I gave him an elbow to his stomach for his trouble.

“All right, all right,” he said, coughing between words. “Are you really serious about this, Haruhi?”

As serious as Hatoyama is prime minister.

“Hatoyama hasn’t been prime minister since Kan.”

That’s beside the point. Kan-san always seems like he’s on edge, like he’ll punch through a table or something and scare a room full of kids. Hatoyama should come out of retirement.

“It would never happen, not after what he did with the base on Okina—wait, why are we still talking about this?”

You started it, correcting me.

“Hey, Kyon!” A boy approached us, smiling. It was Kyon’s friend, Kunikida. “How are you, Suzumiya-san? I was impressed you figured out Teacher’s problem earlier. How did you recognize it was a limit to Euler’s number so quickly?”

“Anybody who knew anything about math could tell right away,” I said. “Didn’t you?”

He and Kyon exchanged a glance. “Anyway, I just wanted to get your attention,” said Kunikida. “I think one of your friends is looking for you.”

“One of our friends?” said Kyon. “Who?”

“The girl with short hair? She used to wear glasses? Nagato-san was it?”

“Strange. Nagato’s usually in the club room as soon as classes are over. What could she want now?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” asked Kunikida. “She’s just outside, see?”

He was right. A group of three girls left the classroom, and that’s when Kyon and I saw her. She was standing on the far side of the hallway, a green hardcover in her right hand. She stared, but she was frozen there, like a statue. That’s Yuki for you. She can be shy at the strangest times.

“Yuki!” I said. “Don’t stay out there; come inside!”

She didn’t move.

“Yuki!” I said again. “Can you hear me?”

“Haruhi.” Kyon picked up his bag, looking to the doorway. “Are you going on to the club room?”

“Of course. We’ve got to have big plans to look at this—”

“All right. I’ll bring Nagato as soon as we’re finished.”

“Oh really?” I said. “You and Yuki have to talk about something privately? Planning something special?”

“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” he said.

Don’t just walk away like you don’t hear what I’m telling you.

But he didn’t hear that either. He slung his bag over his shoulder and trotted to the hallway, hunching over at the waist to talk in a low voice to Yuki. She didn’t say anything—nothing I heard, anyway—but she led him away, out of sight.

I packed my things and left. As I turned the corner, leaving the hallway where our classroom is, I saw Yuki and Kyon still talking—or I guess I should say, Kyon was talking and gesturing like usual, with Yuki facing him and only him, hardly moving at all.

It must’ve had to do with her family. Kyon told me that once, though I don’t quite remember when. Yuki lives alone, after all. She has problems with her family, and being such a shy, quiet girl, she doesn’t like to talk about it. I thought for a while she might leave before second year started—Kyon said we should raise hell if it came to that—but she’s still here. She’s our Yuki. The brigade wouldn’t be the same without its soft-spoken bookworm character. You have to have that for balance.

Still, it wasn’t that long ago that Yuki was so sick. To think, not one of her family came to help her at all! That’s not right. I know Kyon thought I should stay out of it unless things looked desperate, and if that’s what Yuki wants, fine, but someone should teach those people a thing or two. You can’t leave a girl like Yuki all by herself all the time. She might just snap when nobody’s looking. For Yuki’s sake, I hope we do as much for her as she does for us, but she never says. I guess if she did, she wouldn’t be that quiet character, would she? I’m glad she’s opened up to Kyon, but even Yuki shouldn’t get too many ideas. She can’t have Kyon all to herself. He’s an important member of the brigade, too.

But he’s not the only one. Or I should say, they’re not the only ones. I crossed over the courtyard into the club annex. I could already smell the hot tea from outside the room. I turned the knob.

“Afternoon!” I called, walking inside.

“Ah, good afternoon.” The boy at the table smiled, dealing out a hand of six playing cards. “As always, it’s a joy to see you, Suzumiya-san.”

That’s Koizumi-kun, my deputy brigade chief. Unlike Kyon and his snarky attitude, Koizumi-kun is a calm and agreeable person. He’s a philosopher of sorts, and because of that, he understands what we’re trying to do. We scour the world for the extraordinary, and in that, Koizumi-kun is my trusted right-hand man. Well, Koizumi-kun? What’s the game?

“Two-ten-jack.” He dealt two hands: one for himself and another for the empty chair across from him. The rest of the deck he placed in-between, neatly lining up the edges. “I’d hoped my partner would be here by now. Can I interest you in joining me instead?”

“No thanks. We’ve got big things to do today!”

Koizumi-kun smiled again. “As expected from our illustrious brigade chief. I await your plans eagerly.”

See? That’s why we need Koizumi-kun around here. The mysterious transfer student is just as much a seeker of the unusual as I am.

“Suzumiya-san, good afternoon!” At the far end of the table, our resident maid poured a cup of green tea. “It’s _matcha_ today; I hope you enjoy it!”

“Why matcha?” I asked.

“I enjoy sifting the powder. The sieve is quaint but effective.”

“ ‘Quaint’?”

She flinched, spilling a stream of tea on the table. “Ah, I mean—oh no, I’m getting it everywhere!”

That’s our Mikuru-chan. She’s getting better at this—being clumsy when it’s cute. It’s taken a little time to train her, but I think she understands her role here now. Every organization needs someone like her: an irresistible character whose looks and mannerisms make men (and some women) fall over to be near her. That’s not the only reason, though. It’s rare that you find someone so fascinated by baseball bats or a wooden wheel—by things that are ordinary because we’ve forgotten what’s special about them.

As Mikuru-chan scrambled for a dry rag, I gulped down the cup of tea and set it on the table. “All right,” I said. “Clean the mess, Mikuru-chan, and then listen up!”

“Eh?” She looked back and forth. “Are we getting started so soon? Kyon-kun and Nagato-san—I haven’t seen either of them.”

“I already saw them; they’ll be late and pay the appropriate penalty. Yuki’s asking Kyon on a date or something.”

Koizumi-kun’s eyes widened. He sat up, coughing, and spat out some of his tea.

“Is that true?” asked Mikuru-chan.

“Who knows? But that’s not what we need to get started with. Today, the SOS Brigade has a mystery!”

“Ah, what a wonderful surprise,” said Koizumi-kun. “As you know, I’m a fan of mysteries. I’ve actually been consulting a collection of detective stories recommended by Nagato-san, starting with Edgar Allan Poe and his tales of C. Auguste—”

“It’s not that kind of mystery,” I said, “though if Koizumi-kun has a scenario planned for summer vacation, by all means!”

“I’ll endeavor to put plans in motion immediately,” he said. “I must admit, I’m very much looking forward to an overseas venture. Tsuruya-san’s castle should provide a unique and challenging atmosphere.” He smiled to himself. “But perhaps that is a discussion for another time. I believe I’ve become carried away with this digression.”

“Not to worry,” I said. “The puzzle we have today concerns these!”

I slammed the coins on the table and let the two of them witness the truth of things.

“Eh? A hundred and fifty yen?” Mikuru-chan picked up the fifty-yen piece and looked through its hole. “The aliens are defrauding us of pocket change?”

Why does everyone keep saying that?

Koizumi-kun eyed the other, the hundred. He slid it off the table, into his hand, and held it up to the light. “Perhaps, Suzumiya-san, you could explain to us what it is that’s puzzling about these coins?”

“They used to be the same,” I said. “They were identical fifty-yen coins before I put them in the vending machine this afternoon.”

“I see. Are you certain you made no mistake? Or perhaps the mechanism experienced a—hm, how should I say it—a glitch?”

 _Glitch_ and _pocket change_ —are they the words of the day around here?

“I didn’t make any mistake,” I said, “and if the machine was broken, then everyone would’ve caught on and milked it dry. There’s something unusual going on. Maybe it’s only a one-in-a-thousand chance, or maybe only one-in-a-million, but defying the odds is what the SOS Brigade is all about! Am I right?”

“Of course,” said Koizumi-kun. “The brigade stands by its leader in pursuing the unknown.”

“That’s the spirit! Okay, I have a plan to investigate this. We need to be scientific and thorough. We might have real, documentable evidence of something extraordinary here!”

“That sounds like fun,” said Mikuru-chan. “I’m very interested in seeing scientific methods in practice from this ti—I mean, this area. How do we get started?”

“I’m glad you asked. Koizumi-kun?”

“Yes?” he said.

“Excuse us for a few minutes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “But of course.” He took one last sip of tea, and when he was in the hallway, I locked the door behind him.

“But, but, Suzumiya-san, I thought we didn’t have to do that anymore!”

Don’t be silly, Mikuru-chan. Our resident Lolita-type mascot character can’t be restricted to just a sailor uniform or a maid outfit. You have to be flexible. You have to be versatile. You have to be able to wear as much—or as little--as the situation requires.

That’s what I love about Mikuru-chan’s body. She makes everything from bunny girl outfits to a nun’s habit look sexy.

A nun, huh? That could be fun. But that wasn’t what I was going for. Don’t worry, Mikuru-chan. We won’t be exposing too much of your body. I actually think one of your best outfits is one of the least revealing, and for what I have in mind, we have to be at least a little tasteful. What a shame that others can’t enjoy your body like I do.

That made me wonder…

“Mikuru-chan.” I pulled gently on her uniform, exposing her shoulder. “How do you feel about dressing up with me? Do you enjoy it as much as I do?” 

She looked at me, tilting her head. “Why does Suzumiya-san ask that now?”

“No reason,” I said. “I just thought, you know, who would ever dress up in bunny girl outfits or a maid costume if they were all by themselves? You wouldn’t, would you? No one would.”

“I guess that’s true.” She nodded once, affirming it. “The outfits Suzumiya-san gives me to wear are pretty. I like trying them out from time to time.”

There we go, Mikuru-chan! That’s the spirit!

“But I can take my clothes off by myself!”

Now where’s the fun in that? Honestly, you should be used to this by now. All right, all right, off with the skirt, off with the blouse. Everything must go!

It didn’t take long to get Mikuru-chan into the outfit we needed. As she dusted off her mittens, I went to the door. “Koizumi-kun, we’re almost ready!” I called out. “Are Kyon and Yuki back yet?”

“Unfortunately, I still seem to be alone here,” he said.

That’s fine. I didn’t know what was taking the two of them so long, but we could get started without them. All we had to do first was a short supply run…

  


“Um, excuse me!”

Our destination was the square outside the train station. Efficiency was the thing. The scientific method tells us that for a rare event to be tested and probed fully, you need a huge number of trials. That’s basic probability. What we needed a lot of were coins, the more the better. I’d thought for a moment we should knock over a _pachinko_ parlor; that would’ve been fun. We’d have needed a car or a van of some sort. Probably a van. Koizumi-kun would watch the van. Mikuru-chan and I would make a disturbance to distract the staff—this I’ll leave to the imagination—while Kyon and Yuki would hack or bust into the machines and bag the cash. They’d get away with Koizumi-kun, who could explain away his presence to anyone suspicious without a problem. You see, that’d be efficient. That’d be simple. Kyon would’ve shot it down in a heartbeat, I’m sure, because he has no imagination. Koizumi-kun might cautiously advise against it, and Mikuru-chan would cry, hoping not to get arrested and go to jail.

That’s fine. A simpler, low-risk approach would do just as well, especially to get Mikuru-chan outside in festive gear.

“Um, excuse me!” She rang a bell on a stick and stood stiff as a board in her outfit: the red Santa suit I’d given her for Christmas with white mittens for her hands. “Please, the children of Bangladesh need you!” she said, and in her other hand, she offered a red bucket. She trembled, looking around nervously. “Suzumiya-san, am I doing this right?”

“Of course!” I said. We weren’t that far away—Koizumi-kun and I, that is. It’d be suspicious to people if someone like Mikuru-chan were accompanied by the two of us, so we hid behind a support pole. That was the safest thing. After all, if you left Mikuru-chan by herself, especially in that kind of outfit, she’d probably be dragged into an alley by an unsavory old man and forced to polish his cane or something. It’s a brigade chief’s duty to protect her members from things like that.

She nodded slowly and started again. “Please, help the people of Bangladesh!” she cried. “Their cities are falling to the Earth’s core from earthquakes! Their roads are twenty meters underwater! The fires have turned all the trees to ash, and, um, the government has banned them from the Facebook, too! It’s a humanitarian crisis, so please, help them!”

A couple of businessmen walked by with big grins on both of their faces. “This is for you, little lady,” one of them said, and they each stuffed a folded banknote into the bucket.

Mikuru-chan smiled. “Thank you very much!” She looked to our pole. “Suzumiya-san, that was ten thousand yen!”

And that’s why the brigade needs Mikuru-chan. See, Kyon? This is your punishment for being late—missing Mikuru-chan’s award-winning performance.

“And why should I be punished, hm?”

That was Kyon with Yuki. They were standing in plain sight, drawing Mikuru-chan’s attention, so I dragged them behind the pole with us.

“You do realize that four high-school students can’t possibly fit behind a thin white pole,” said Kyon. “It’s a bit impossible.”

“Shh!” I said.

“And what are you making Asahina-san do? You leave a note for us to come to the usual place, and I find you’ve got Asahina-san dressed up ringing a bell like she’s in the Salvation Army?”

Exactly that. Honestly, what took you so long? We had to go find a bell and bucket that were the right look and everything!

“Nagato needed a minute of my time, that’s all. So what now? We watch you continue to swindle people of their hard-earned money?”

They’re donating to a good cause. They just misunderstand what cause it is.

“ ‘Misunderstand,’ you say?” He raised an eyebrow. “The only thing I misunderstand is how it got to be Christmas again.”

Most kids I know welcome the chance for presents.

“True that.” He smiled to himself, peering around our hiding pole. Really, Kyon—are you sure you don’t want to tip her yourself?

“Ah, Suzumiya-san.” Koizumi-kun waved a hand in front of my face. “Forgive my interruption, but I think we have a situation developing.”

I looked back, around the pole. A pair of boys eyed Mikuru-chan like a pair of hawks. “Come on, pretty Santa,” said one of them. “Why don’t you come home with us, and we can unwrap your present?”

“EH?” said Mikuru-chan, eyes wide.

“Hey!” I called out, marching up to them. “No one says improper things to Mikuru-chan, and _no one_ touches her!”

“Says the ear fetishist,” Kyon muttered.

Yuki blinked. “What is a—”

“Never mind that!” He looked around. “Did I say that out loud?”

You know, you guys are really killing the moment here. I’ve got these two brats who care nothing for Mikuru-chan’s dignity, and you’re talking about ear fetishes?

“Our sincerest apologies,” said Koizumi-kun. “We would very much like to see you dismiss the rabble, Suzumiya-san.”

That’s more like it!

“We aren’t going to be ‘dismissed’ or whatever so easily!” one of the boys shot back. “What are you going to do to stop us?”

Take one more step, and I’ll show you. I have a black belt. No, I have so many black belts, the last one the masters gave me was ultraviolet!

Kyon winced. “That doesn’t even make sense!”

Why don’t you stay out of this? I’m trying to scare this brat off, but all you’re doing is encouraging him. See? He’s making a fist; he’s taking a step. That just means I’ll have to teach him—

CRUNCH! A dust cloud rose, swallowing the boy and his friend whole.

“Haruhi, Asahina-san, here!” A hand grasped my elbow and yanked me into the clear. Koizumi-kun too—he covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve and guided Mikuru-chan by the shoulders to safety. Pebbles sprayed out from the ground. The boy who challenged me, who thought he could look at Mikuru-chan, stood at the edge of a man-sized sinkhole.

“What the hell?” said his friend.

The first boy backed off. He stumbled; he tripped. He rolled his ankle and landed flat on his ass. Hopping gingerly, he limped away. He put his arm over his friend’s shoulder, and the other carried him. Serves him right. He’s at least thirty-four thousand, two hundred and seventy-six years too early to be thinking about violating Mikuru-chan!

“As opposed to thirty-four thousand, two hundred and seventy- _seven_ years?” said Kyon. “Or, as opposed to, say, you?”

Shut up!

“Still,” said Mikuru-chan, “it’s frightening to think the pavement was so fragile underneath.”

“It must be a freak phenomenon,” said Koizumi-kun. “A broken water pipe could’ve leaked into the space beneath us, eroding the rocks until they lacked the integrity to maintain the sidewalk above them. Truly an unfortunate calamity.”

That must’ve been it. Crazy, really. To think I dared that kid to take one more step, and he did. He could’ve been killed if he’d stepped just a few centimeters to the side. That’ll teach a brat to hit on Mikuru-chan, I guess, but…

“Guys,” I said. “Let’s go. We can do plenty with what we’ve gotten so far. I don’t think we’ll get any more donations today unless we say we’re with the road bureau.”

Mikuru-chan dropped her bell in the bucket, making an unholy noise and spilling some of the loose change we’d gathered. I helped her pick some of it up, but that’s when I saw them: Kyon, Yuki, and Koizumi-kun. At the pole we’d been hiding behind, they were talking. Yuki spoke so softly, and Kyon and Koizumi-kun leaned in, straining to hear. After a while, Koizumi-kun answered her, whispering, with a serious look on his face.

“What’s this you’re all up to?” I said. “The brigade chief tolerates no surprises unless they’re good ones, in which case she’ll happily accept.”

The boys jerked—hands caught in the cookie jar, I took it. Yuki didn’t move.

“You’re quite right, of course,” said Koizumi-kun smoothly. “I apologize for being so improper. In light of the erosion problem in this area, Nagato-san and I were debating the problem of…oh, what was it? Let me see. I seem to have forgotten the whole conversation now that I’m distracted. How very silly of me. It was—”

“Turbulence in fluid flow,” said Yuki.

“Oh, of course! The solution to the Navier-Stokes equation in three dimensions, a most puzzling problem.”

“That requires you to hold your face so close to Kyon’s?” I said.

He stepped back. “Forgive me. I gave in to temptation…”

Kyon took two steps back.

“All right,” I said, “come on, let’s pack it all up. We have some searching to do. Mikuru-chan, let’s go!”

“What about the Bangladeshi children?”

“I made all that stuff up! Come on!”

“So they didn’t get banned from the Facebook?”

  


We made a run on the bank with the money Mikuru-chan collected: a grand total of about fifteen thousand yen. The teller gave me a cross look when I asked him to break the bills into fifty-yen coins, but it was Kyon who gave me the crosser look. He eyed the bucket as we undid each roll of coins and poured them in.

“I’m going to have to carry all these, aren’t I?” he said.

Bingo!

We returned to school around five that afternoon, and that’s where the real part of the plan had to come through. We had around three hundred coins from our SOS donation fund. The only reasonable thing to do was test the vending machine: send them all through and see when the magic happens.

“That’s ridiculous,” said Kyon as we gathered in the courtyard. “How long is that going to take?”

How should I know? Do I look like a human calculator to you?

“Seven hundred and ninety-two seconds to pass every coin through this mechanism,” said Yuki.

Kyon twitched. “Nagato,” he said, “was that a joke?”

“Perhaps.”

That’s good, Yuki, but it’s not enough just to send every coin we have through there all willy-nilly. We have to be scientific about this!

“Your idea of science frightens me,” said Kyon.

Oh shut up.

Honestly, if he just took a moment to listen, he’d see that it was a simple plan. If just one coin went through that machine and changed, I wanted to know everything there was to know about what it used to look like and what it became. That’s why all five of us would have a job to do. From the bucket of coins, Mikuru-chan would start. She’d take one out and number it with a felt-tip marker. She’d hand it off to Koizumi-kun, who’d take photos front and back, and Yuki would do the same after each coin was fed through the machine, the job of which belonged to…

“Me,” said Kyon.

Bingo again!

“And what are _you_ doing?”

Oversight, of course. Someone has to make sure things run smoothly.

He slapped his palm to his forehead. “This is madness. These coins may as well be the last Greeks guarding the pass of Thermopylae. Not one of them is going to come out the way you think.”

“There _are_ three hundred of them,” said Koizumi-kun.

“That’s not the point! If the odds of this machine spitting out the wrong coin are just one in a hundred thousand, the chance of even one of these coins seeing anything ‘interesting’ are—gods, what would they even be?”

What are you saying? We need more coins? I mean, we could get more. Mikuru-chan?

“EH?” she squeaked.

Or if Mikuru-chan’s frightened from all those perverted eyes watching her, then maybe Yuki wants to dress up?

She looked to Kyon, who twitched nervously. “You don’t need my permission…” he said. He rubbed his forehead, letting out a heavy sigh. “Anyway. Haruhi, if you’re bent on this, fine. Let’s do it. After all, Nagato said it would take only a little over ten minutes, right?”

“The estimate was sound until Suzumiya Haruhi announced her amended plan,” said Yuki.

“And now?” asked Kyon. “How long do you think this plan of Haruhi’s will take?”

All eyes turned to Yuki, who blinked once before her lips parted again.

“Longer,” she said.

Well it _shouldn’t_ have taken so much longer, but it did. Mikuru-chan smeared the black marker ink on the coins as she passed them and fell behind, keeping Koizumi-kun and the rest of the assembly line waiting. Yuki and Koizumi-kun’s phones ran out of space to hold all six hundred photos that were needed, but that didn’t take too long to fix, as Yuki uploaded the images from each onto some private server she had somewhere. Still, I’m most disappointed in Kyon. Really, how do you injure yourself putting coins down a slot and hitting _coin return_ over and over?

“I’d like to see you do that three hundred times without twisting or spraining something,” he said, wringing out his fingers.

We filled the bucket back to the top again and headed back to the club room, but already, something wasn’t right. I asked Yuki on the way up if any coins seemed unusual coming out of the machine.

“I received only fifty-yen coins,” she said.

Every one?

“Yes.”

How could that be? I knew what I’d seen. Even if whatever happened was rare, like a disease that only affects one person out of the seven billion on this earth, there had to be some reason for it. I had two fifty-yen coins in my hand that afternoon, and one of them came back different. That was a fact. I wouldn’t forget it. I didn’t mistake it. Whatever happened then, there should’ve been evidence of it in these three hundred coins we’d collected.

But there wasn’t. We unpacked our laptops and went over every image individually. Some of us were faster than others—Yuki flipped through the whole set in less than ten seconds while Mikuru-chan fumbled on her keyboard and found herself on a blue screen for half an hour—but the conclusion was the same. Even I…won’t deny it.

We had a useless bucket of fifty-yen coins, none of which had been affected or changed in any way.

“Well, on the bright side,” said Koizumi-kun, “we have fifteen thousand yen to spend on activities and events. We could put the proceeds to an end-of-term party or use it as an entrance fee into another sporting event. I would be delighted to dust off my athletic shoes if our brigade chief wishes.”

It was a bucket of useless metal discs. I didn’t care what we did with it. The sun was low in the sky, the shadows from the trees and buildings long and growing by the second. I stood by the window and made the final order of the day.

“Go home, everyone,” I said. “You’re all dismissed.”

The chairs dragged against the floor. “Um,” Mikuru-chan began, “will we try to get more coins tomorrow?”

I doubt it.

“Have a good evening, then, Suzumiya-san,” she said.

Good night.

“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow,” said Koizumi-kun.

Bye.

There was a quiet set of footsteps, almost inaudible. See you later, too, Yuki.

The door closed. Someone was still there.

“You staying here all night?” I asked.

Kyon drummed his fingers on the table. “Who can say.”

You know what? I don’t get that guy. Sometimes, I think I understand him, but then he does something like this and surprises me. I understand myself just fine. I still remember the events in my life that are important to me. I hear the crowds at Kōshien cheering as a home-run ball soars into the stands, but their cries are like a lonely child’s in a vacuum—they’re small. They’re meaningless. They’re insignificant. I see through the darkness on a muggy night in July, four years ago, but still I can’t make out that mysterious guy’s face. These are the things that have made me who I am. They’re why I search for something bigger than myself, why I know there are mysteries in the universe to solve.

Kyon doesn’t talk that way. Sometimes—even most of the time—I feel like he’d rather sip tea and sit in the club room all day, letting the world pass by.

“You’re really down about this magic coin thing not working out, huh?”

You make it sound like it’s totally a figment of my imagination.

“Are you going to let it go?” he asked.

“So what if I do?” I responded. “You’ve been saying it’s silly all day. If you want to gloat or something, do it somewhere else!”

It was getting late. The sun fell beneath the horizon, but the sky was still light. Everything outside had faded to where I could just make out Kyon’s reflection in the window. He sat back with a pensive look, and said,

“It’s unlike you to give up so easily on something you’ve set your sights on.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

“It means the brigade supports you in whatever you choose to do,” he said. “Asahina-san, Koizumi, Nagato…”

Yeah, and?

“Are you staying much longer?” he asked.

Maybe.

He scooted back in his seat, rising. “Then you have a good night, too, brigade chief.”

Night.

He turned the doorknob, stopping there. “Oh, and Haruhi?”

What now?

He frowned. “Never mind.”

The door closed.

Like I said. That guy confuses me sometimes.

I walked home alone after dark. The brigade “supports” me, he says. Well of course they do. They’re all interesting characters. They’re looking for the extraordinary with me.

Honestly, I don’t know why that boy is still here if he doesn’t want to be so badly.

Well, let me take that back. I don’t know why he hangs around us, acting the way he does, but the brigade wouldn’t be the same without him, either. It’s great to have the cute, Lolita girl; the quiet book-lover; and the mysterious transfer student, but put the three of them together? That’s not enough. It’s not balanced. It doesn’t fit all the way. You need an everyman to keep them all in check—someone who protects Mikuru-chan, who brings Yuki out her shell, who tempers Koizumi-kun’s philosophizing and digressions.

You need someone like Kyon to keep me, the brigade chief, from riding roughshod over people so they can’t fight back. And you know what’s worse? Just when he thinks he’s won, that I won’t push this “magic coin thing” anymore, he backs off and says I should keep going for it. To be honest, I don’t really know what to say about that. All I wanted to do was find something really exciting in this world. Is there time to still do that? Sure. I’ve been this patient. I can wait and keep looking. Maybe it really was a simple glitch in the mechanism. It’s probably not the first vending machine that acted funny. It won’t be the last.

I walked by that vending machine on the way home. I didn’t plan it that way, but maybe my body did, or my mind, subconsciously…whatever. Just that afternoon, at lunchtime, I’d been thinking. I was content with things, at least a little bit. I could stand that there were no storm clouds on the horizon or signs of UFOs watching. I guess I thought that they were still out there but they’d be found later, in their own time. A fritzy vending machine spitting out the wrong coins—I’d latched on to it without really thinking at all.

I dug into my pockets. I found the pair of coins: the fifty and the hundred. I dropped the smaller, hollow one into the machine. This would be the end of it. Once the machine took my money, once I guzzled down a can of water and sugar and threw it away, there would be nothing more to think about, nothing else to test.

I put the reeded edge of the hundred-yen coin to the slot.

And I pulled it back. I pocketed that coin and walked away. As much as I thought about that time four years ago when spring receded and the days grew hot, muggy, and long, I had nothing to remember that Tanabata by. Rain had washed away my chalk drawing. I had no photo or drawing to capture John Smith’s likeness. Though this simple hundred-yen coin meant nothing in reality, I kept it anyway. It was a glimpse of something extraordinary, even if that glimpse was false.

But Kyon was right, despite his backtracking. Come tomorrow, I thought I’d drop the whole thing and move on. The best thing to do was look forward and not dwell on things that weren’t what you thought.

I walked in the door to my house. It was cool inside. The television was on but muted.

“I’m home,” I said.

“Welcome home,” said my mother, chopping onions in the kitchen. “I didn’t think it’d take you so long, but I got started with dinner.”

I made a face.

“I don’t think I’ll make you or your father deathly ill just by holding a knife, see? The tomatoes are diced over there, too. Everything’s ready; you should be able to jump right in without any preparation.”

“All right.” I slipped off my shoes. “Let me just put my stuff away.”

“Long day?” asked Mother.

“A little bit.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Kan-san’s not having a good day, either.”

Kan? What about him?

“Look at the television.”

I stepped into the living room. There was no sound, but the headline at the bottom of the screen made it clear.

“He’s resigning?” I said. “Why?”

“Apparently, he went to an elementary school today to read to some children. One of the kids started bothering him, and—oh, I don’t know what it is the boy said, but it made Kan-san so angry. He made a scene and frightened the whole class! Can you believe it? They have parents all over saying he made their children cry.”

Fretful Kan got angry…

“But that’s not the most interesting part,” said Mother. “It seems his old master Hatoyama-san is taking over again. Never would’ve expected that, not after the way he was shown the door.”

Kan and Hatoyama. Kyon and I were just talking about them this afternoon. I said that Hatoyama should be prime minister again, regardless of the reasons he left. I said that Kan would blow up, that he was always on edge, that he would be liable to do something stupid, like…

“Mother,” I began, “what did Kan-san do to scare those children?”

She put down the chopping knife and glanced at the ceiling in thought. “Why, I think he threw a fit and chopped through the table he was sitting at.” She laughed. “Broke it cleanly in two. Can you believe it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The limit mentioned that resolves to Euler’s number ( _e_ ) does exist. It’s not, in my opinion, the most elegant way of concluding that _e_ is a special number, but it seemed the best fit here. This limit ultimately comes from the study of compound interest.
> 
> Edgar Allan Poe’s tales of Dupin are often cited as the seminal works of detective fiction. In the first tale, “The Muders in the Rue Morgue,” Dupin performs a Sherlock Scan deduction just as Conan Doyle’s detective later would, though the technique can be traced even further back. Even so, “Rue Morgue” is an interesting piece, as it was written before many of the detective-story conventions in place today. For example, the killer in the story is no man—rather, it’s a pet orangutan.
> 
> The Navier-Stokes equation describe fluid flows under certain idealized assumptions. If you can prove or disprove the existence and smoothness of solutions in 3D, you could win a million dollars. I’ve been told the N-S equation is buried somewhere in the second season opening sequence, but I’ve yet to see it first-hand.
> 
> While none of those disasters really affected the country of Bangladesh, the government there did indeed ban Facebook within the country at one point in May 2010.
> 
> Naoto Kan succeeded Yukio Hatoyama in June 2010 as prime minister. He is not, to my knowledge, prone to punching through tables at the slightest provocation.
> 
> The Salvation Army does indeed operate in Japan, though I can’t speak to how well they’d be recognized.


	3. The Lightning Bolt

I don’t think I’ve ever wolfed down dinner that fast.

“Careful, my little spring kitten,” Father chided me. “Slow down or you’ll choke. Honestly, it’s like I have two daughters at this table.”

You have one daughter, and she hasn’t responded to “little spring kitten” since she was five.

My plate cleared, I raced upstairs, leaving the dishes undone. Mother was kind enough to believe me when I said I’d do the dishes after. At least, I think she was. If instead it had to do with whatever could make a fifty-yen coin turn into a hundred—or whatever could instill a wood-snapping rage in Prime Minister Kan and convince dozens of disillusioned old men to bring a former leader back to power—well, I’d just have to figure out how that happened and not do it again. And I would. I wouldn’t rest until I figured it out. Why? Because all this time, I’d been looking for the extraordinary, and I’d found it!

“I’m an esper!”

I was in my room, the hundred-yen coin face-up and flat on my desk. My cell phone I placed beside it. The speaker crackled. The screen was bright and glowing.

Come on, Kyon. It shouldn’t be taking you this long to answer.

“I thought you were reading my mind over the phone,” he said. “Isn’t that what espers do?”

I don’t actually have control over it yet. Weren’t you listening? I just—I don’t know, maybe I predicted something, so that’s why I thought Kan was suspicious? Maybe I sensed what happened with this coin, and that’s why I knew to look deeper?

“That…could be.”

Huh? What’s with this lukewarm reaction? We don’t have to go out and look for aliens and espers to play with! The brigade can have fun with me instead!

“JUST WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?”

Kyon, I’m sensing that you’re upset. Maybe you want a glass of milk?

He cleared his throat. “Haruhi,” he said calmly, “you’re not an esper.”

I’m not?

“No. You are…”

I am…?

“You’re…”

Come on, out with it!

“You made a lucky guess.”

Bullshit!

“I’m serious,” came the voice from the phone. “Why would you think you’re an esper? That makes no sense. You’re an esper who has the ability to influence a politician? That’s it? How could anyone call themselves an esper if their power only works under suspiciously specific circumstances? It doesn’t make any sense.”

All that means is that I haven’t figured out how to control it yet.

“Then allow me to make a prediction. Suzumiya Haruhi, I see in your future a sleepless night of trying to make the universe bend to your mental will, but the universe, as devious a creature as there ever was, will merely conjure quantum magic to do strange things like make a car able to tunnel through a mountain. God does play dice with the universe, and to keep us lowly mortals from understanding it, He can rig the game, make the dice unfair.”

He can rig the game all He likes! If a car could tunnel through a mountain like an electron does through a potential barrier, that’d be super cool.

“That’s not the point!” He sighed, and I could tell he was rubbing his forehead furiously, trying to think of what to say. I didn’t have to be an esper to know that. “Honestly, Haruhi, if I were you, I’d just get some sleep. You’ll think better of things in the morning.”

‘Think better of things in the morning’? What the hell is that? You’re the one who encouraged me to keep going.

“I did no such thing.”

You did; you totally did, unless I should think you stayed late for some other reason.

“What other reason?”

I don’t know. Looked to me like, to take my mind off things, you were thinking of asking me on a date.

“That’s ridiculous.”

I would’ve accepted.

“And dumped me within three minutes.”

Is that what you think?

There was a silence on the other end of the line. Why do people do that? They get distracted, or they’re thinking. Why should I believe anything I hear when it takes so long to come up with? People should say what’s on their minds right away. That’s what I always do.

“I thought it’d be bad luck,” Kyon finally said.

To ask me on a date?

“To leave with the thought that we got close to something and missed. But you know something? If this had been a year ago and something you thought was special or unique turned out to be simple instead, you wouldn’t have taken it nearly as well.”

You think so?

I mulled over that a bit. Kyon had a point. A year ago, I was different, and if I’d discovered, say, an alien corpse only to find out it was fake, I think I might’ve sulked for a whole week. These things—these disappointments—don’t bother me as much as I used to. I think I resolved not to let them.

Maybe I shouldn’t have.

“You still there, Haruhi?”

Yeah, I’m here.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Sure.

“Remember what I said—don’t stay up all night working on this little magic trick or whatever.”

Yes, Mother.

“Don’t say that. It’s creepy.”

Good night.

“Night.”

I pressed a button on my phone, and the white light went out. Go to bed, you say. Do homework. Don’t worry about these mysterious things that are probably nothing.

Probably.

Not a chance. He was talking about backing off, about shying away from the unknown. As if any reasonable person would ride a rocketship into space only to keep looking out the window to make sure they could still see the sun or the earth. It’s crazy. There’s no other way to look at it. There’s something special inside me, and I’m not going to pretend it isn’t there. All I needed to do was find some way to bring it out.

Honestly, it makes a lot more sense than people would think. If everyone on Earth woke up tomorrow with special powers, they wouldn’t have any clue what to do or how to use them. They probably wouldn’t even know they had powers at all—it’d be awfully convenient if they did, at least. In stories, no one used to give that a second thought. Superman flies and sees through your clothes and stuff. They never questioned how he learned to fly or if he crossed his eyes to see x-rays or anything like that. Nowadays it’s the opposite. Every story is about trying to learn the ropes, but they take it too far. Isn’t it a little silly that there’s _only_ one way to shoot web from your wrists? It’s like the writers tried too hard to get it right and made some things that should be easy to pick up way too hard.

Maybe they were right, though. Here I am—I know I can do _something_ , but I don’t even really know what. Well, there’s only one reasonable thing to do in that case. I burst from my room and scampered downstairs, finding my father before the television, ignoring it as usual. He was reading from a newspaper instead.

“Chasing after a mouse, Kitten?” he asked, hardly looking up from the headline.

Not quite. I pointed to him and said the first thing that came to mind.

“ _Flans Exclamatio!_ ”

He blinked. “What does that mean?”

Well, in theory it’s supposed to disarm you. In practice, it usually destroys your clothes.

“You were trying to take my clothes off?”

Yup!

“Kitten…”

Father?

“Truthfully, your mother and I are a little concerned of late.”

When you say ‘of late’ like that, it makes me think you haven’t been paying attention to your daughter and how she’s been raised for the last five or six years.

“We always knew you were a little eccentric. You’ve been better about that lately; that’s not what we’re concerned about.”

What then?

“Well, it’s just not healthy to want to disrobe your father.”

I was testing a magic spell!

“Don’t misunderstand me, Kitten: you’ve grown up very well. You look like the image of your mother when she was your age. The resemblance is really quite striking. Even more so since you cut your hair—”

Father, we’re not having this conversation.

“But your mother and I would be encouraged if you were interested more in boys your own age. Or girls. We’re prepared for that, too. Or various superpositions of boy and girl in the same—”

We’re _not_ having this conversation!

“But Kitten—”

Stop calling me that!

Father sighed. “All we’re saying is that the club you made is only a first step. Your mother and I would like to see something more. And by _more_ , I mean preferably a single person, not twenty boys all accepted and told off within the span of two weeks.”

There were three girls mixed in there, too, and those are just the ones who had the balls to ask me out. Besides, isn’t this a little backwards—a father encouraging his daughter to find a boyfriend, I mean? You should be stalking all my male friends or something and intimidating or bribing them to stay away. Your behavior is totally unrealistic, Father.

“Says the child who’s trying to blow my clothes off with a Latin incantation. Doesn’t that seem a bit silly?”

I guess. I mean, why _do_ they always use Latin or ancient Greek or Chinese? It’s like they always choose the most esoteric and mystical old language and say that’s the language of magic. Why don’t they use a language of the future or something?

“You’re thinking about this too hard,” said Father. “Go do the dishes.”

How is it I can milk fifteen thousand yen from passers-by at the train station and not get out of doing the dishes at home, anyway?

“That’s just the way life is, Kitten.”

I waved my hand in front of Father’s face. “This is not the daughter you call _Kitten_ ,” I said.

He waved back. “That’s not a film I haven’t seen before.”

Can’t say I didn’t try. I went around the counter, into the kitchen area, and found the stack of bowls, the soiled chopsticks, the spoons with traces of broth left at the bottom. I looked out the window above the sink and drummed my fingers on the steel of the basin. Father wanted me to pursue normal things. That’s because he’s a grounded person. He keeps in touch with the world. He cleans his glasses three times a day. He leaves before dawn and reads the paper only when he gets home. Father’s never treated me badly, but he only sees what’s close to him. He sees from a meter away what a normal person could see at six, and I’m not talking about characters on a chart. I’ve always tried to look farther. Normal people look six meters ahead of them; I try to look six hundred.

But looking that far won’t clean these dishes.

I focused on the faucet handle. My brow creased, and I stared at it. It should move or something. It should bend to my will. What do I need to do that? Should I wear a helmet to protect myself from telepathic interference?

It looked that way. That faucet wasn’t moving. Hell, having to do these dishes when I could be unlocking the secrets of the universe—that’s a real pain! I banged my fist on the edge of the sink and turned away, leaning against the counter. Just let these dishes be done. Let the bowls be polished and sparkling. Let the chopsticks be spotless. Just _be_ that way, so I can get back to looking, so I don’t lose that feeling I had—that scary, wonderful feeling—when Mother told me what Kan did and I knew I had a hand in it, somehow.

“Those dishes won’t do themselves,” said Father.

That was so. Father has a knack for stating the obvious truth. I turned back and put a hand on the faucet.

But something had changed. From the running tap, water splashed on the steel basin, but the dishes…

The dishes were gone.

No, that’s not right, either. They were beside the sink—the bowls were separate, white, and dry. The spoons were laid neatly, side-by-side, and the chopsticks were lined up in pairs.

I made what I wanted real—not by chanting in Latin or waving a magic wand. What I wanted came out and changed the world when I wasn’t looking.

It was awesome, and I knew exactly what I’d do next. I’d go upstairs and practice. I’d work on it until I mastered it, until I knew every capability and every limit. I stacked the bowls; I gathered the chopsticks. I put the dishes back in the cupboard and closed the door gently. Even Kyon would be excited about this. Kyon and Koizumi-kun and Mikuru-chan and—

And the quiet girl with expressionless eyes whose reflection I saw in the kitchen window.

“Yuki?”

I watched her there; she stood behind me, unblinking, unmoving.

I spun on my heels. “Yuki, how did you—”

She was gone. The space behind me was occupied by air and empty tile.

  


I didn’t think about that too much. Yuki could be like that sometimes—here one minute, gone the next. That’s not to say I thought it typical for her to be in my house at night or that she could sneak past my father without him noticing, but that was a question for another time. A girl must have her priorities. I wasn’t about to let my abilities, my power, my _whatever_ be limited to those of a simple dishwasher.

For the rest of the night, I shut myself in my room and practiced for hours. It didn’t make me tired. That’s something they get wrong: people think that, if you’re going to affect the world with your mind, it must be exhausting. It must demand tons of concentration and willpower, like you’re fighting against Nature herself. Maybe that’s what’s really going on, but it didn’t feel that way to me. I made that hundred-yen coin spin in the air, floating effortlessly a meter above the floor. After a while, I didn’t even have to think about it or look at it to know it was still there. I found it was easier if I relaxed. If I knew easily and clearly what I wanted to be, it would be so. I did my homework without even picking up a pen. The ink appeared on a sheet of paper, as if a god wrote on it with his own finger. This is amazing, I tell you. There’s no other word for it. All this time, we’ve been looking for special, and it’s me!

Now people just had to see it for themselves.

I practiced through the darkness until the sun shone in the window, and that was fine by me. It always feels like, when you have to sleep and wake up, that you’re just losing time. Life goes by, and that time passes with your eyes shut and your mind empty. If I could change that, I would. Maybe I could make it so I didn’t have to sleep at all.

But I hadn’t done anything like that yet. Though I looked forward to school that day, to showing the brigade and anyone else with an open mind what I could do, I admit my footsteps were a little heavier than usual. I rubbed my eyes and shook off the shivers, but so what if it were a little harder for me to walk. The air was cool and pleasant, even though by noon that might change. The world was quiet and ordinary. Peaceful, perhaps, but still ordinary. That would change, and I’d be the one to do it. What would change, you ask? The people who walk by a stalled car as the driver turns his key frantically, unable to start it. I guess on some level we’re taught it’s not our business to interfere with other people’s lives, but that’s silly. Anyone has the power to lend a phone to someone who needs it, but few actually do.

The driver of the gray sedan turned the key once more, but the engine struggled, whined, and stopped again. He slammed his fist on the dashboard and sat back, checking his watch. He couldn’t make the pistons pump and the flywheel spin all by himself, but I could. The key turned; there was a hiccup of exhaust from the tailpipe, and the engine hummed without a rumble. The man finally took a breath, shifting into gear and driving off, and my steps were a little lighter. Just a little, though. My feet felt like lead by the time I got in the main gate. I changed my shoes and trudged to class, dragging my feet. That’s the problem with being human. There are some instincts you can’t overcome. I’d left wanting to show people what I’d discovered. Instead, all I showed them was my head on the desk, snoozing away through morning classes.

“You know…” A finger poked me in the shoulder, stirring me to life. “When I said you’d stay up all night messing around, I didn’t think you’d _actually_ do it.”

I opened my eyes. The blackness faded. I shook off my fatigue, and I saw clearly. Our classmates were chatting away casually over boxed lunches or flipping through textbooks frantically. It was lunchtime.

“That’s your problem, Kyon,” I said. “You’re always saying things you don’t mean.”

“I recognize the need for people to take the world a little less than seriously at times.”

I wiped my eyes for dust. It’s amazing how much better you feel after a nap. It really puts the energy back into you. Awake and alert, I was ready. Let the fun begin, I say. Look out all you people, chowing down and talking like it’s the same as any other day. It’s not. I’ll show you.

“Uh-oh, I know that look,” said Kyon. “When Haruhi grins, the world trembles. Let me use Mega Distraction then and hope it’s super-effective. Here.”

He slid a blue plastic tray across my desk, with a bowl of rice in one corner, a plate of grilled salmon and vegetables in another, and a dish of braised burdock root in-between. So what’s this, you bought me a lunch and brought it back here so I could eat from the comfort of my desk?

“Not me. You have Koizumi to thank for that. He passed by and was concerned; that’s all. I’m just the delivery man.”

These vegetables are half-eaten.

“Must’ve been lost in transit. I had absolutely nothing to do with it.”

Liar. Koizumi-kun would be upset if he found out you ate part of his gift to me.

Kyon shrugged. “The most upset that guy gets is when I drop a pawn and he can’t stop me from promoting it on the next turn.”

Uh-huh. I picked at the rice, pulling the bowl away from him lest he get any strange ideas.

“Well?” he began. “I expect you stayed up all night trying to convert the world population to brigade members with mind control or something.”

I’m not an esper, if it pleases you to know that. At least, not in the traditional sense of the word.

“Seems to be a trend.”

I’m something better.

He blinked. “Better how?”

Watch now, Kyon. Watch, and be amazed.

“Huh? What are you going to—”

He stopped. He stared. His jaw hung open, for the blue plastic tray, with my bowl of rice and fillet of salmon, floated off my desk.

“Haruhi, what is this? Someone will see!”

I smiled. “I bet they already have. Do you know why? It’s because when you have this kind of power you can’t afford to think small. Did you really think I’d go for moving just the lunch tray between us?”

He turned in his chair. There was a murmur that spread through the room. From a bottle of milk, white droplets rose through the neck. Textbooks fluttered open and flew gently toward the ceiling. Some of our classmates abandoned their chairs, for those who didn’t lifted off too.

“You see, everyone?” I called to them. “The world is more extraordinary than you think! This is just the beginning, just one night’s effort to master something exceptional. Look upon this sight, my friends, and be amazed!”

“You’re breaking the laws of physics!” cried Kyon.

“Because gravity is inconvenient. Why shouldn’t Einstein-san let us turn it off every once in a while? Isn’t this a lot more fun?”

“You can’t just turn it off for some things and leave it on for others!”

I don’t think you can really tell me what I can’t do when I’m doing exactly that as we speak.

There was a clanking, a mess of noise. Chalk and erasers hit metal chair legs on the ceiling. Schoolbags and notebooks pushed against the removable panels. One of our classmates climbed atop his desk, grasping for a pencil that floated beyond his reach.

“Stop this, Haruhi,” said Kyon.

“Stop it? Why? Isn’t this great? Like I said—this is just the start of things. Do you know what kind of weirdness will be attracted to us once this gets out? It’ll be amazing!”

“This isn’t a joke or petty resistance for the sake of being stubborn; I mean it! I don’t want you to turn the world upside-down on a whim, Haruhi! Stop this! I’m begging you—no, I’m _telling_ you—this needs to end!”

CRASH! The chairs fell back to earth, rattling like a set of abused tuning forks. Boxed lunches overturned, spilling grains of rice as if to celebrate a Western wedding. Our classmates covered their heads or ran for the hallway outside, looking for cover, but they were safe.

Safe to go back to their boring lives.

  


I skipped class for the rest of the day. I have no desire to hang out with idiots who don’t appreciate something spectacular right before their eyes. I saw it in how our classmates reacted. They peered about the wreckage and complained about broth soiling their bags, about grains of rice in their papers. So I might’ve overdone it. I’d think that could be forgiven, after seeing something no one imagined, but no! All they did was whisper and look at me. There wasn’t a smile on any of their faces. Not on the class rep’s, not on that moron Taniguchi’s, who cried over some stupid stain on his bag.

And Kyon? When it was all over, he wiped his brow and breathed easier. “Thank goodness,” he said. “What were you thinking? You could’ve hurt someone right there!”

I didn’t hurt anybody; they’re all fine!

“That’s not the point! You’re always bent on making a show of things. Can’t you keep this world-changing stuff to yourself?”

“What the hell?” I shouted back. “ ‘Keep it to myself’? What’s that? You’d have to be crazy not to be in awe over that!”

“It’s not about awe or anything like that! You can’t rush headlong into the rookery and hope everyone behind you can fend off the angry whelps for themselves!”

At least I have the courage to charge in there at all, ready or not!

Guh. Whatever. It was a meaningless argument. He had no business challenging me like that. I’m the brigade chief. Stuff like this is exactly what we do! You’ll see, Kyon. Come club time this afternoon, the brigade will show what it’s really made of.

To make that happen, I went to the convenience store down the hill and bought some supplies. If I had the power to change the world, that was just the beginning. I could do it; the others could, too.

“Is there some sort of activity at North High today?” asked the old man at the register. “You’re not the first young lady I’ve seen out today.”

Oh? Who else would be—

“Look out!”

The cashier and I turned toward the commotion. In an aisle of potato chips and cereal boxes, a little girl—a clueless toddler—looked up. The shelves were leaning, tilting, as if some unseen force were pushing them over. A jar of salsa fell to the floor and shattered, spilling chunks of tomato on the tile. A woman stood at the end of the aisle, in a place of safety, and cupped her hands around her mouth again.

“Kaoru-chan!” she shouted. “Come here!”

But the girl wouldn’t move. She watched as bags of barbecue- and onion-flavored chips fell around her. The whole steel frame tilted and buckled. The mother dashed into the aisle. “Come along!” she cried. “Come with Mama!” Yet the girl, Kaoru-chan—she stayed put. No matter how her mother pulled and tugged on her, the girl’s feet were rooted to the floor.

“Get out of there!” yelled the clerk. “Hurry!”

As if. The mother, unable to move her child to safety, put her body in harm’s way instead. She held the girl tight and put her back to the teetering shelves. She’d let herself be crushed first if it saved her daughter.

Like I’d let anything of the sort happen. The shelves emptied; they showered mother and daughter in bags of snacks, but the metal fixture came off the ground. It floated. Its top and bottom touched the adjacent aisles, yet it hovered safely. I kept it there.

The mother dug herself free of the pile of food. “Come, Kaoru-chan!” she said again. “Won’t you move?”

“I couldn’t, Mama!” The little girl kicked herself clear as well. “Now I can.”

Mother and daughter ran to safety, and I lowered the fixture back into place, crunching a box of cereal underneath. The store rattled, the weight of the metal shelves settling again, but as far as I could tell, no one was hurt.

“I, ah…” The cashier blinked, gaping. “I guess we can offer you a discount?”

“A discount?” echoed the mother. “That was dangerous! We could’ve been killed! How can you have such a shoddy piece of equipment here?”

“Hey, look, we’ve never had a problem with that fixture, all right? I don’t know what happened right there or what that other high-school girl saw, but it looked perfectly fine to me!”

Wait, the other girl—what did she see?

“She thought it was unstable,” said the cashier, “like it could collapse at any moment. Said we should get it looked at, but I didn’t see anything wrong. I checked the bolts, but she kept saying that with a smile like she was dead sure.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

Maybe she pulled a prank on you and you just didn’t notice. What did she look like? Did she say anything specific?

“She was quite pretty, not unlike you. She was a little taller. Long hair. She was from North, too. I could tell by the uniform. I asked her why she wasn’t in school, and she said she’d just come back into town from overseas.”

Overseas? From where?

The cashier shrugged. “She didn’t say. Always had a smile on her face, though.” He peered out the front windows, squinting. “Say, that might be her now. See?”

I looked to the street. Sure enough, there _was_ someone walking by, but I caught only a fleeting glimpse. Her light blue skirt, the hair down to the middle of her back. She passed the edge of the window, walking out of sight. I bolted through the door to follow. Some mysteries don’t have to do with aliens. There can be a perfectly good one right in front of your nose. Someone “noticing” a problem with the shelves in a convenience store and then it coming to pass—that’s not a coincidence. I’ve read enough stories to know that. I looked down the road to see where the girl’d gone. I checked the nearby alleys, but she’d vanished. Disappeared, like a pile of dust to be blown away in the wind. She must’ve had help.

A police car and an ambulance came by. The paramedics treated Kaoru-chan for some scratches while the officers and some advisors asked us more about the mysterious girl and the case of the falling shelves. I told them I didn’t think it was an attempt at murder or anything like that, just a prank gone bad. The officers seemed to agree, but the dark-skinned teenager they brought with them and the little boy with a bowtie didn’t seem so sure.

“There’s always someone dying around this kid,” said the dark-skinned boy, gesturing to his companion. “It’s a fact of life.”

“Hattori,” said the little boy.

“What?”

“Shut up.”

I left that mystery to the authorities. I paid my bill and took off with my supplies on the uphill trek back to school. Not knowing why that convenience store fixture fell or who might be responsible, I still felt sure of something: people like me can’t stand by and do nothing. I saved someone with this power or whatever it was. Imagine if everyone could work that kind of magic how the mysteries of the world could be made bare, how people would no longer trudge through their lives, knowing there was something greater than themselves to have faith in. If I hadn’t been there, knowing what I could do, that little girl would be dead. I felt that way before I went to that shop down the hill; I knew it to be true as I returned: it should be more than just me with this power. Everyone should have it. Everyone should be special.

With all the police commotion, I made it back to school right as the final bells rang. It was a quick walk to the club room, where I met Yuki, who read by the window.

Yuki, who always looked the same, just as she did the night before, standing behind me in my family’s kitchen.

No, no, that was silly. I shook it off. It couldn’t have really happened. “Afternoon!” I called into the room.

She turned a page in her book, the green hardcover from the day before. Her eyes moved to look at me, but her head only nodded slightly in place. Well, Yuki? Did anyone else pop in yet?

“Not yet,” she said.

That made sense. I didn’t have to come from class to get there. I set the bag of supplies down and sat at the head of the table. What’s this book, Yuki? I don’t recognize the title.

“It is newly published,” she said.

Oh? What’s it about?

“Temporal resonance.”

I thought this was a work of fiction?

“It is. The protagonists travel back in time, precipitating the creation of their time-travel mechanism.”

Isn’t that a bit of a paradox? A self-fulfilling prophecy? A stable time loop?

“It is a loop, but it is unstable. Events are unlikely to unfold in precisely the same way with each iteration.”

Why’s that?

“True occurrences are quantum-mechanical in nature. Their outcomes are randomly distributed. If such events did not result in different outcomes over subsequent loops, they would not be truly random, and the universe would be deterministic. Instead, the time within each loop is repeated with variations in the outcomes of events. Each iteration exists, and a full description of reality is a superposition of each timeline until the loop is broken.”

Broken?

“If there is but one possible chain of events that precludes a journey back to the past and breaks the loop, then the loop will only be traversed until that possibility is manifest.”

I don’t think I’d like that. Then no matter how we think we affect things, we don’t really have any impact on the world. If something is really inevitable, then we’re just putting it off until the time comes.

“Yes, but an entity could exist who distorts the distribution of probabilities toward a desired outcome. Such a being would have the power to make some events truly impossible, to perpetuate a loop infinitely, if she so wishes it.”

And how would someone do that?

Yuki blinked, turning back to her book. “It is not understood.” 

That’s Yuki for you, I guess. Once she starts going, it can be a little tough to get her to stop. And really, do you want her to? If you shoot her down while she’s stringing a few sentences together, she might never speak again. She could be traumatized and have to speak to us with sign language. She might isolate herself behind a pair of bunny earphones and console herself with H-games.

Nah, what am I thinking? That’s not Yuki. Yuki reads. She looks for strange ideas and tales like this ‘temporal resonance’ thing. See, that’s what we all should be doing. We should have our heads in the clouds and ten kilometers past that. Yuki and I understand each other. Everyone else, when they see what I’m capable of, will understand, too.

Right on time, the doorknob to the club room turned, and it was Koizumi-kun who came in with raised eyebrows. “Oh! Good afternoon, Suzumiya-san. I didn’t know if we should expect you today. News of the incident in 2-5 has been the talk of the school ever since lunchtime.”

Really? What are they saying? Does everyone know about it by now? Do they know it was me?

“Alas, a natural phenomenon was the rumor,” he said. “I believe it was termed a gravitational anomaly.”

Really now? A gravitational anomaly? What is this, some sort of trek to the stars? Don’t anomalies stop being anomalies when you keep running into them week after week? It’s not like Yuki is the robot at the operations console. It’s not like Mikuru-chan is the empathic counselor or Koizumi-kun is the smarmy, baby-faced lancer on my right. You hear that, Koizumi-kun? Maybe you should grow a beard.

“I fear I’d be grossly ill-equipped for the task,” he said. “In fact, my family has great trouble with facial hair. My father never could quite grow enough, yet my mother—”

The doorknob turned again. “Excuse me!” came the timid voice. “Is everyone—oh! Suzumiya-san’s here after all.”

I am, Mikuru-chan, and you’re late.

“Ah! It’s not—I mean, it was Kyon-kun!”

Kyon did what?

“I didn’t do anything,” said Kyon, walking in the door behind Mikuru-chan. “I just passed along a message. Apparently Kunikida has a thing for Tsuruya-san or something like that. I passed it to Asahina-san, who informed Tsuruya-san.”

And?

“And what?”

What did Tsuruya-san have to say about that?

Kyon tensed up. “Ah, she just, er, she said she would think about it, right, Asahina-san?”

“Tsuruya-san seemed genuinely surprised,” said Mikuru-chan.

Is that right. Well, I guess I can excuse that for today, as long as you’re not trying to hide something from me instead. Don’t look at me like I’ve got snakes for hair, Kyon. First you and Yuki yesterday, now you and Mikuru-chan today; you think I don’t notice these things?

Kyon let out a breath. “You’re in a good mood after all.”

Damn right I am! I saved a kid this afternoon from a falling set of shelves, and now, we’re going to peer straight into the unknown!

“And how’s that, exactly?” asked Kyon.

Well that’s the easy part. I’ve already bought what we needed, see? Look in that plastic bag.

“Haruhi,” he said, holding up the package, “plastic forks? Plastic knives? You want us to have dinner here?”

“If that is the case,” said Koizumi-kun, “I’m afraid I have plans, much as I would enjoy a fine meal with the brigade for company.”

That’s not what we’re here for, boys. We’re going to explore the nature of the universe. There are no gravitational anomalies or whatever around here. I did that in class today, and there’s no reason you all can’t, too!

Kyon stared. “You want us to do what?”

Bend a piece of cutlery with your mind, each of you.

“Haruhi, they’re _plastic_.”

All the better! Honestly, that’s what was always wrong about that—metal spoons? Seriously? Of course metal bends. You can do that with your own two hands. Why would I want you to do something you can do by yourself just by grabbing both ends and twisting really hard?

Koizumi-kun sat down, crossing his legs at the knee. “You have a very good point, Brigade Chief. What would you have us do?”

That’s the easy part. Everyone take a fork or something and focus on it, okay? If I learned how to do this over the course of a day, all of you can, too!

Kyon gawked. “What kind of supermen do you think we are?” He shot a look at Yuki and Koizumi-kun. “On second thought, don’t answer that.”

Just as well. I spread out the disposable cutlery, and each of the others took a few for themselves. Now, I’m a realistic person. I won’t say I had high expectations. All I wanted to see—and I encouraged them to think a little smaller at first, too—was maybe a bent prong on a fork or a melting knife in someone’s hand. That has to be easy, right?

Right?

You really can’t sigh while telling a story in text, can you. Okay. Let’s just say I had to amend my expectations a little bit. Mikuru-chan, may the gods bless her for her cuteness, but she had absolutely the wrong idea. She took a fork back and forth in front of her face. She crossed her eyes; she stuck out her tongue and moved the fork until the tip of a prong touched her nose. Startled, she jumped back in her seat with an adorable (if disappointing) yelp.

At least Koizumi-kun had the right idea. He put a knife on the table and sat at an angle, staring intently at his target. I was impressed with his ability to look upon the knife without moving. He maintained his gaze for a good fifteen minutes, I’d say, until Kyon had the nerve to bother him.

“Koizumi,” he began, “why is it this knife of yours is on a direct line between you and me?”

“Is it?” Koizumi-kun was unwavering in his stare. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Kyon gently nudged the knife aside, but Koizumi-kun was a little slow to follow. Honestly, Kyon, you should be paying more attention to your own task. Building a house of forks isn’t what I asked you to do!

“I’m keeping it stable with voodoo powers. That was our assignment, wasn’t it?”

Uh-huh. I tapped the leg of the table with my shoe, and the plastic building came tumbling down.

“My dream house!”

Oh shut up.

My last hope was Yuki, for unlike the others, she had a unique tactic. She took something different from the bag of cutlery. When last I’d watched her, she was waving the piece of plastic in a circle, but by the time I was done with Kyon and his antics, Yuki was empty-handed, reading her book again.

“Yuki,” I said, “what happened? Where did your spoon go?”

She looked at me, moving her bookmark and setting aside the hardcover. She opened both hands, but they were bare.

“No spoon,” she said.

Argh! You guys are killing me here! All you need is a little focus.

“Perhaps such knowledge will come with time,” said Koizumi-kun. “After all, Suzumiya-san, you said when this ability manifested itself you had no prior knowledge of it. It was only realized after the fact. The experience may well be the same for us. I know it is not in the brigade’s character, but patience seems the order of the day.”

Patience? Screw that crap! Why should I be patient? The power is already here. Let me show you.

I took a spoon from the bag. I held it by the tip an arm’s length away. Just below the bowl, the handle softened. The spoon began to melt and twist. The bowl curled around, making a loop. It threaded the gap and straightened. It was a knot made of plastic, not string. The plastic hardened, and I flicked it with my fingernail. It was as good as new.

“See, guys?” I said to the others. “Isn’t it amazing? This has to be just the start. I, for one, will keep figuring out what I can do with this power, and all of you should give it an honest go, too. This’ll propel the SOS Brigade to the international stage, I tell you! People all over the world will want to understand the secret and join us, don’t you think?”

It was quiet. Yuki was as still and silent as ever. Mikuru-chan’s eyes went wide. Koizumi-kun’s ineffable smile gave way to a puzzled, open-mouth stare. Kyon frowned. With an intense gaze, he looked past all of us, through the window and into the courtyard, as if puzzling over a math problem that had no solution. Well, guys? Are any of you even paying attention? Are you?

There was a low, vibrating sound. Koizumi-kun took out his cell phone, checking the face. “Please excuse me. I think we were planning the brigade’s global expansion, yes? That should be an enjoyable exercise, but I must be a moment.”

He left, and it was Mikuru-chan who picked up on Koizumi-kun’s lead. “Will we have to go overseas?” she asked. “I’ve not been out of Japan since middle school…”

We stayed in the club room for some time after. We planned an advertising campaign: an expansion of the brigade website, billboards on every major street and flyers and even broadcast television time. Even a simple video on the Internet could spread virally and give us a massive boost in exposure. It’d certainly be better than some lame music video—I mean, really, if Thursday was the day before, if tomorrow will be Saturday, there’s only one day today can be!

But for all Koizumi-kun’s ideas, Mikuru-chan’s hesitations, Yuki’s quiet words, and Kyon’s unhelpful rebuttals, I couldn’t forget that one moment. With the knotted spoon in my hand when none of them could say anything, even Yuki seemed unnaturally silent. It was just for an instant, and everything went back to normal just as quickly, but still—shouldn’t Koizumi-kun have looked upon that spoon with fascination? Shouldn’t Mikuru-chan have idly wondered how it could be possible while Kyon vehemently insisted it couldn’t be? Shouldn’t Yuki have tilted her head a little bit, curious how it happened even if she couldn’t say? I saw surprise in them but no bewilderment, no awe. How could anyone look at that—a spoon made to knot itself—and not be amazed?

  


When I headed home, it was still daylight. Mother had gone grocery shopping, so it was just me, in my room, with the one-hundred-yen coin face-up on my desk. I sat there, in silence, and leaned back, tilting precariously. On the brink of falling, one awakens from any dream, not knowing how much time has passed in reality. Maybe my life to this point had been the dream, and now, with that magically-changed coin before me, was this reality? If I spun that coin on my desk, would it wobble? Would it fall?

Maybe it was just my whole first year in high school that had been the dream. I admit, when I came to North High, it wasn’t what I thought it would be. The “weird” clubs, like paranormal research and so on, were still utterly boring and conventional. They were activities for the sake of activities, to keep from making it look like you had nothing else to do but go home and be antisocial. Some of them had promise—that I’ll grant, but Kyon had the best idea: make your own, so it can be what you want it to be.

The point is, any group is made of people, and you can’t make people into what you want them to be. Not everyone can be like me. It’d be natural for people to look upon something new and wild and be a little scared—or even jealous. Even the kinds of people I wanted for the brigade—fun, interesting people—could be a little intimidated by all of that. It wouldn’t be a strange response.

It would just be typical.

Common.

It really sucked that we came out of the new term with no recruits from the first-years. Contrary to what Kyon might tell you, I didn’t expect we’d get dozens of eager little minions to play with. Just a handful would’ve been plenty. The brigade is better small. It’s not like I thought no one but that lone little girl would pass my tests, and even _she_ wasn’t who she said she was. I wonder now—if I’d had this new power then, if I’d made a big spectacle of things and promised even more, we’d have enough people to fill the club room ten times over, I’m sure.

But then, they’d have never paid their dues. They’d never have searched and thought and planned and kept looking for the extraordinary even when it buried itself in the dirt. That’s why it’s okay that there’re only the five of us still. Or at least, that’s what I’d thought.

Ah, to hell with it. It’s just one day—no, the first day of something incredible, right? I flipped the coin end over end, and with just a simple glance, I watched it land edge-on, sticking there like a gymnast coming off the balance beam. I dare anyone else to even try that. They’d be waiting for a very long time. Come tomorrow, everything would be right. I knew exactly what to do: make a big event of things in the morning, right as everyone filed in for class. I could make a giant SOS Brigade sign in the clouds, perhaps, and have it change continuously, so everyone would know it was nothing natural or man-made but made by me instead! I could make a stage, with Koizumi-kun to be the master of ceremonies, Yuki taking video and photos, and Mikuru-chan on stage as our official cheerleader.

What about Kyon, you say? Eh, he can hold a pom-pom, too. I’m sure he’d spend most of his time watching Mikuru-chan as she bounced up and down and jumped, too. Well, who could blame him? Anyone would be tempted, just looking at her.

Anyone would.

I’m thankful I’m an only child. I have a room to myself. I have privacy, even more so when Mother is out. I’d puzzled over things too much. I was tired mentally, but my body was keenly awake. It’s times like those you can’t ignore what your body wants from you. Without the mind to distract it, a person’s body is no better than an animal’s. We eat when our bodies are hungry. We sleep when they’re tired, but that isn’t all. Thinking of Mikuru-chan and how she’d jump around waving two bright yellow pom-poms the next morning, how the color would come into her cheeks from our schoolmates’ stares—

I don’t need to spell it out for you, do I? It’s not like I skip meals or forget to sleep—okay, today doesn’t count. I’m a healthy girl, after all. When we’re distracted, it’s because our bodies have their urges. Sometimes, you have to get those feelings out of the way. Today’s no exception.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it. I mean, you’d have to be a fool not to. It’s not like I haven’t seen all of Mikuru-chan, from the top of her pretty little head to the dainty tips of her toes. Mmm, I feel jealous of any man she’d set her eyes on. I can only imagine she’d be clumsy and shy at first, with no tolerance for unusual sensations, but with time, that would change. If she put her mind to it, as she did with her maid duties and tea brewing, she’d completely devote herself to it. She’d make herself the perfect partner. Just think of how she’d blush, how she’d squeal! I know those sounds from her well. Don’t worry, Mikuru-chan. It’s all right. Just stay as you are forever. Don’t let any dirty boys touch you—not the gawkers who follow you from your year, not Koizumi-kun (though I know he’d never dare), but _especially_ not—

Oh damn. I’m not supposed to think of him right now. I’m not supposed to think of him right now! It’s a coincidence is all! It’s just happenstance. He just reminds me of that other boy—the boy whose face I can’t remember. Maybe I never really saw it at all, on that warm, starry night four years ago. “John Smith.” Really, what a pathetic alias! But I guess it proved effective. It stuck with me. When I was still in middle school, I’d go by North High every once in a while, looking for him. I’d peer through the fences, and wonder if one of the boys playing soccer were him or if I should sneak onto the grounds and look through the classrooms until I found him for sure, but I never did. Instead, I’d meet him in my dreams instead. It’s okay to think about him at a time like this. It wouldn’t be the first time, but Kyon—Kyon’s the opposite of him. That Kyon reminds me of John is just a coincidence. He’d never be caught painting alien lines on the ground. That sometimes, when he spoke, it sounded like he could admit aliens, espers, and time-travelers were everywhere, just as John did…

Coincidence, I tell you. It didn’t mean anything. If I took an elastic band from my desk and tied my hair into a short ponytail, that wouldn’t mean anything, either. It’s not me. It’s just my body. It’s like an electron and a positron, careening toward each other in an accelerator. It’s an elementary dance. They could miss each other completely and go on their merry ways, but that’d be dull. No one wants to see that. Scientists and choreographers alike want to see them rush headlong toward each other’s embrace. Coulomb’s pull makes them hurry. As they accelerate, they give off energy, radiating light and heat into space, but that’s not the most exciting part. They can’t touch without annihilating each other. Their first point of contact is their last, and the evidence of their union is seen in tracks of bubbles and shooting jets. It’s explosive. It’s powerful. I wonder, if you could be an electron, would it feel good? Merging with your opposite, making something impossible that can only be seen by those who look for it? Because that’s what Kyon and I are, you know. Opposite in every way, yet he wouldn’t have hung around this long unless he had a reason to. So what is it? Mikuru-chan’s sake?

Or is it because, like the positron wants to be canceled out, Kyon wants to give up being grounded and dream like other people do? Is it a rush, just to feel like you’re on the brink of something amazing? Do the scientists in France and Switzerland feel their hearts pound when a pair of particles destroy each other in a firework-like spectacle? If they do, I think I know the feeling. Melt away the smart remarks, the dogged resistance toward anything fun, and what do you have left? Maybe nothing—that’s a possibility I have to admit—but maybe, instead, you have a boy who’s every bit as unusual and interesting as I am. An electron and a positron mirror each other, after all. It’s not like he isn’t fit. So what’s wrong, you ask? I’m the electron, and I feel myself being pulled in inevitably, falling faster and faster, waiting for the explosion I know will come. Faster and faster, I see things that never happened—walking with him on the school’s athletic ground under an opaque sky. I’ve lived that kiss a thousand times over, never understanding where it came from or why, but at times like these, I don’t care. The feeling is enough. The memory is enough. I leaned back in my chair, on the verge of falling. It took all my concentration to keep from tumbling down. That way, I wouldn’t think beyond my own breathing. I sat on the cusp, like an electron in orbit about its positively-charged opposite, but that’s not stable. Eventually, you fly away, unsatisfied, or you tumble. You fall—

THUD!

I tumbled all right. My chair tipped over, and I fell backward and rolled, sprawling on the floor. What the hell was that? That sound—it was the door to my room getting beaten inward by some ridiculous force. Thank God the lock is good, but who could’ve—I mean, Mother couldn’t be back yet. Honestly, damn that infernal noise! Couldn’t you have waited just another half a minute? I wasn’t finished!

“Hello?” There was a voice outside. “Is someone in there?” There were two light taps, a knocking sound. “I seem to be lost in your house. I know that’s a bit hard to believe, but—”

The voice stopped. Now, I can only imagine what that made that person outside hesitate. He might’ve realized how silly it was—as if he could take a golden rod and will himself into someone’s house or, say, to Moscow before he even had time to get dinner. That’s probably not what happened, though. I know this because I already had a feeling I knew whose voice it was, and if he had any wits about him, he’d have already seen something really critical to understanding where he was:

The picture frame outside my room, with Mother, Father, and me outside Kōshien five years ago.

“Haruhi?” he said. “Is that you in there?”

I, um, _adjusted_ my clothes a little bit and straightened my hair. A brigade chief should never look unprepared. I undid the lock, but I kept the door closed. Well, Kyon? How many times is it I’ve found you sneaking into my room now? Someone might think you have an unhealthy obsession with where I live.

“I doubt that,” came the voice through the door, “seeing as I didn’t know where you live until a month ago.”

I opened the door. It was Kyon all right, just as I thought. He was still in uniform, too, albeit loosely, with his shirt untucked and his necktie partway undone. He wriggled his toes like a bored child drums their fingers on a table. He scratched his temple and squinted. “Besides,” he said, “I’m not exactly inside your room this time.”

“Two centimeters outside my threshold is no different,” I said.

He looked around, shrugging. “I guess not.”

You’ve got a way with words when you’re sneaking around. “Well?” I said. “What are you doing here? You have a present?”

“Present?”

I pointed to the desk. Past the papers and the face-up coin, there was a small, rectangular box with a ribbon tied overtop.

“It can’t be,” he said. “You couldn’t have _not_ opened it.”

“Of course it’s open, Kyon. It’s just reassembled. Packages are important, too. Like I’d want to forget that night by demoting its fruit to a common object.”

“Is that right.” He leaned forward a bit, studying me. “Are you flushed, Haruhi?”

“You’re imagining things. And stop changing the subject! What are you doing here?”

“I was at home, just back from the club room, when suddenly I found myself—” He stopped. He looked past me, at the upended chair. “Found myself in a den of…um—”

“Spit it out,” I said. “People don’t just blink out of existence in one place and reappear in another. You’ll have to do better than that.”

He winced. “You’re right, of course. Sorry. Believe it or not, the truth is…”

“The truth is?”

“I was in the neighborhood, minding my own business, admiring the flowers and the beauty of early summer—”

“Get to the point, Kyon!”

“I lost my shoes.”

“You did what? Wait, how?”

He made a face. “Do I really have to answer that? Do you really _want_ me to answer that?”

Guess not. “So? What does that have to do with sneaking into my house?”

“I was, um, wondering if I could borrow a pair of shoes to go home with?”

“I don’t think mine will fit.”

“Ah, that’s true…”

“But Father’s might,” I said, barging past him into the hall. “Come on.”

“You’re a livesaver, Haruhi.”

Don’t thank me yet, Kyon. I know you’re not being straight with me. A brigade leader always knows. What are you planning, hm? I’d accept another surprise, if it’s well-planned.

“Like I said, I was just in the neighborhood.”

Liar.

I gave him a pair of my father’s brown loafers. Father doesn’t wear them anymore. They were his favorites, and because they were his favorites, he wore them out but can’t stand to get rid of them. So he keeps them in a shoebox in the closet, collecting dust. I should think he’d be happy to see them get use again.

“Thanks, Haruhi,” said Kyon, standing at the threshold to our door. “I know this is a favor. I won’t forget.”

I know you won’t because I’m going with you. I put on my shoes and closed the main door behind us.

“But why?” he asked.

So I can bring Father’s shoes back when you’re done with them. Why else?

“I see.”

For a while, as we walked from my house to his, we didn’t say anything else. That’s how Kyon is, you know. If you leave him be, he won’t rock the boat. He’s steady. He’s constant. Like I’ve said, there’s a need for that, but how do you pass by a set of carnations in bloom and not even look at them? How do you look at a disc-shaped cloud in the sky and not wonder if it’s a UFO instead?

“I’m not looking for aliens,” he said. “I know they must be out there. As for the flowers, I did notice them. That’s a good shade of pink for this time of year.”

You’re missing the point, Kyon. I’m talking about finding the best parts of the world around us and exploring them. That’s what we do in the brigade, isn’t it?

“Yeah, I guess we do.”

So tell me something, then. Your resistance I expect. It doesn’t surprise me anymore—that you tend to be narrow-minded, I mean.

“I’m…glad?”

But even you could’ve shown some enthusiasm. I mean, I have the power to—you know, I don’t even have any idea what all I can do. Doesn’t that count for something?

“It _is_ incredible,” he said. “That I won’t deny.”

Can you say that again like you mean it?

We stopped at a street corner, and instead of crossing with the other pedestrians, Kyon stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, leaning against a pole. “Can I tell you a story?”

Should I find a stuffed animal and cuddle up in my pajamas?

“Cute. No, this is a simple story. My friend’s story, I should say—a friend from middle school. He prided himself on being above foolish notions like believing in Santa or looking for aliens.”

Sounds like a boring person.

Kyon made a face. “Never mind that. Anyway, he got mixed up with a girl, a very strange girl. You’d be proud of her. She got him involved in looking for sliders, let’s say. He went along with it, thinking the whole time he didn’t want to be—”

So who would get roped into something like that against their will?

“Let’s say she was a friend of his family, and it might’ve been undiplomatic to refuse her. The consequences would’ve ended his world, to so speak.”

Well that’s lame. Nobody should hang out with someone else because they’re forced to. And why do you keep talking like ‘let’s say this’ or ‘let’s say that’? Is that what happened or not?

“It is; it is. I’m just trying to change some details to protect his innocence. Anyway, one cold day in December, he woke up, and that girl he knew was gone. Transferred out of school by agreement of her parents and his. No one at that school missed her, and for a few days, he panicked. He tried everything he could to find her, to figure out where she’d gone. Eventually, he did, though, and he had to accept in himself that he liked having her around, that he didn’t mind looking for sliders. He did what he had to do to get her transferred back, and not once, he told me, did he regret it.”

And?

“And what?”

Where are they now?

“In high school together. I don’t remember where.”

I mean, he got her to come back. He must’ve liked her.

“They’re not dating, if that’s what you mean.”

I thought you said you didn’t remember where they went to school.

“Some things you just know without being told. All I’m trying to say, Haruhi, is that I learned a lesson from that guy.”

And what lesson is that?

“Hope never to see a slider.”

You’re hopeless.

“Sorry. I guess what I’m really trying to say is this: don’t confuse my inherent coolness with not wanting to find those extraordinary things you’re always talking about. You and I just have different ways of going about it.”

Uh-huh. I guess we really don’t see eye-to-eye, especially if you think of yourself as cool.

“Very clever that.” He pulled himself off the pole and took one step toward the street.

WHOOSH!

But a speeding two-door blew by him, ruffling his pant leg. Wisely, he put his foot down, staying on the sidewalk. “That’s what I get for telling a story, huh? This light takes forever, too.”

Says who?

Horned blared. Brakes screeched. The light for the cross-street turned yellow. I guess no one expected that.

“Haruhi?” Kyon began, “did you do that?”

Maybe. Honestly, do _you_ remember when the signal changed?

The light turned red, and Kyon and I crossed before a group of unsuspecting drivers. “All right,” he said, “I’ll admit that was pretty handy.”

Handy, you say? It’s nothing. It’s trivial. Did you think I was blowing smoke when we were talking about those plans this afternoon? This is big stuff, Kyon. We’re going to change the world, you and me and the rest of the brigade.

“Always thinking big, aren’t you.”

Of course I am. But what I don’t want to see is for you and everyone else to go along with it because you feel like you have to, like that boy in your story did.

“That wouldn’t happen anymore.”

No? Why not?

“Because.” He shoved his hands in his pockets as we made it to the far side of the street. “A brigade chief’s wrath is harrowing enough, make no mistake, but in the end, I don’t think anyone is seriously afraid you’ll bring an end to the world or anything like that.”

I’m not so intimidating anymore, you mean?

“The brigade trusts you. Koizumi, for sure. He’s told me so. Asahina-san, too, I think. Nagato? Sometimes I can’t read her, but I imagine she does.”

You’re doing that again—talking about others and not including yourself.

“You’ve got the power to do who-knows-what. Maybe it’s as little as changing a traffic signal to be convenient. Maybe it’s as much as making everyone in this world an esper, a time-traveler, or the humanoid construct of an alien race. I don’t think anyone knows for sure.”

Hmph. You’re talking about me like I’m some sort of god.

“You think big enough to be one.”

You know, I actually like the sound of that. Good idea, Kyon. With me as supreme deity, we’ll establish a high church in my name. The SOS Brigade can be like the Jesuits or something. Koizumi-kun will be the High Priest of Suzumiyaism.

Kyon gawked. What’s that reaction? You don’t think it’s a good idea?

“ _Suzumiyaism_ doesn’t have the right ring to it,” he said.

No? We’ll have to think of another name for it, then.

“I didn’t expect you to take it seriously!”

You should know better than to give me an idea and expect me not to take it seriously.

“Point conceded.”

It was getting late. The shadows were growing long, and Kyon’s house made itself visible about a hundred meters down the road. That could be the first thing I do, Kyon: level off every hill on this route so people don’t have heart attacks traversing it every morning.

“I’d never ask you to do that.”

Of course you wouldn’t. That doesn’t mean I can’t think about obliging. Now let me see, what kind of powers would that need?

“I’m serious, Haruhi,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to turn the world upside-down just for fun.”

It’s not just for fun; weren’t you listening? I bet a half-dozen people die every year walking this hill.

“Well, as long as it’s for that sort of reason, I don’t think I’d mind. I’m just trying to get it through to you, since sometimes you listen only to what you want to hear: you actually have the power to change the world now. How much or how little isn’t important. You have it, and it’s done. I think you already understand that some measure of responsibility comes with that. You’re more than a brigade chief now.”

I know that. Honestly, now it’s my turn to say you talk too seriously, Kyon. It’s not like I’m moving continents or bringing comets from the sky down to Earth without some consideration for what else would happen. Give me some credit. I could’ve gone on television and done something incredibly public just to rub it in people’s faces, but I didn’t.

“I thought that’s what the whole last half of the brigade meeting was about.”

Forget that! That was dreaming. That was fun. And I won’t rule all of that out, but I’m not so impatient or reckless to play willy-nilly with stuff I don’t understand. Not yet!

“I know that.”

We stopped before the walk to Kyon’s house. He slipped off my father’s shoes and pushed them toward me with his foot.

“I know I dodged this earlier,” he began, “but let me say this now: it’s not just the others who trust in you, Haruhi. When I met you a year ago, I thought you were reckless and sociopathic—”

Way to be gentle, Kyon.

“But that’s not who you are anymore. We’ve all noticed it. You get along with people you would’ve thought boring or unimportant. You’re considerate, albeit in your own roundabout and convoluted way. You’re a different person now, someone I’m proud to call my brigade chief. I know you won’t remake the world on a whim. I have absolute faith and confidence in that.” He smiled. “In you, that is.”

What?

What is this? What are you saying? Where did this rush of feeling come from? What are you trying to make me do? And stop smiling like that! That’s too much, I tell you, too much! You have to dial that down at least fifty percent! Honestly, saying you have complete trust in me when you’re a boy and I’m a girl isn’t right! Kyon, why would you say that?

Unless…

“What’s this?” he started up again, grinning. “No self-assured remark about how a brigade chief should always be trusted or something? You’ve changed more than I thought.”

“Kyon,” I said, stepping closer, “why do you trust me that much?”

“Huh?”

“You heard me.”

“That doesn’t mean I understand.” He crossed his arms, cupping his chin in his hand, pondering. “If you weren’t trustworthy at heart, I’d have left in a second. Yes, that’s it.” He nodded, assuring himself. “I’m counting on you, Haruhi, to prove that trust is well-placed. That’s how it works, right? What people do with power proves the kind of person they are?”

I won’t let you down, Kyon. I promise.

He smiled again, patting me on the shoulder. Honestly, what am I to you, Kyon, your cat? But I let it go. It was a gentle gesture. It was warm.

“I know you’ll be just fine,” he said.

Will I be?

It’s not been the greatest day. It should’ve been, realizing something incredible, only for people not to appreciate what that meant. At least, that’s hot it felt. But standing there, with Kyon’s thumb on my shoulder, it was like all that confidence and faith flowed into me. We had an understanding, he and I, and I never knew it before that moment. If he could follow me because he knew I’d make everything turn out all right, then what else could a brigade chief ask for? What else could a girl ask for?

Not much, really. Just a gift, from one seeker of the universe’s mysteries to another. Something to affirm that we’re not alone after all, not in our hearts. I leaned forward. I clutched his necktie and pulled.

“Whoa, Haruhi.” He caught my hand. He pushed on my shoulder, keeping us apart. “What are you doing?”

What am I doing? What does it look like I’m doing? You come into my house, you say all these nice things—what am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to feel? Tell me.

“Is that why you did this?”

Did what?

“Kyon-kun!” A girl bolted through the front door, running to him along the path. “Kyon-kun, what happened?” asked his little sister. “One minute you were in your room, and the next you’d gone! Mother says you’ll be in big trouble for this!”

We separated awkwardly. Kyon smoothed his tie and straightened up.

No, no, this doesn’t make sense. Kyon, why did you come to me? Why did we spend this whole walk together, talking about power and the choices we’ve made? I thought it meant you were happy. I thought it meant…

It didn’t matter what I thought. What I thought wasn’t true. I knew that when I saw his sister run up beside us, waving a pair of shoes with her hands.

Kyon’s shoes.

_Is that why you did this?_

I did this. I made him come to me. If you can pluck anyone from what they were doing—if you can make them be where you want them to be, like I did with Kyon; if you can make them do whatever you want them to do—is that what I did with the prime minister?

I see now, Kyon. You were right to say what you said. If I can take you away just by dreaming about it, what’s to keep me from stopping you when you pushed back? What’s to keep me from pulling you in close enough that you can’t resist? You don’t really trust me, Kyon. You were just telling yourself that, just telling _me_ that, so you wouldn’t have to think about what’d happen if I let you down…

“Oi, Haruhi!”

I ran. I ran from that place with my own two feet, making sure to feel every step. If I didn’t, would everything between his house and mine go away?

  


I understand now. Koizumi-kun, Kyon, Yuki, Mikuru-chan—they were all afraid of me. As amazing as my powers could be, there was a lingering fear: if I can do the impossible, then there aren’t the words to describe everything I can do. That can be a grand, wonderful thing. It can also make your temptations real, and that shouldn’t always be. I think I understand, Kyon, why you were so cautious.

But I won’t let that stop me. I won’t shy away from the unknown altogether, and I won’t stop trying to show people that it can be an amazing thing. The next morning, I made it storm. I made it rain. I made it rain in a cloudless sky. See the impossible, people of Japan. It’s just the beginning. There’s a lot more to come.

But no one I saw on my way to school that day really appreciated the impossibility of it. They trudged along under their umbrellas, glancing at the sun with puzzled gazes, but then, the topic would pass. They’d go chatting again about exams or homework. Talk of something that’d never happened before lasted maybe, between two school-age girls, no more than ten seconds. I don’t understand. I walked by them without an umbrella, deflecting the raindrops with my mind, and that merited hardly a word either.

I guess they saw Yuki in the distance, too. She was alone, without a coat or an umbrella to protect her. She stared unflinchingly, and I paid her no mind.

“Hey, you, Suzumiya!”

As I came through the gate, a voice called to me. It was that guy from middle school, Taniguchi, getting drenched in a dark green raincoat. His and Kyon’s friend Kunikida trailed behind.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you, Suzumiya,” said Taniguchi. “You’re the only person weird enough to know anything about this.”

“Stop,” said Kunikida, whispering to him. “You’re making a scene.”

“I don’t care! This is weird stuff, and it isn’t right! Look at her, Kunikida! She’s standing plain as day in the rain, and there’s not a thread on her uniform that’s wet. Rain that comes from nowhere, that ruckus in class—I lost a good bag to that stunt, you know! It’s ruined! Stained because you upended a bowl of soup all over it. That was _you_ , Suzumiya, wasn’t it?”

“Aren’t you taking this a little too seriously?” asked Kunikida.

“I’m not! Suzumiya, you’ve always been a little strange, but this is too far!”

“Hey!” Trotting up to us was Kyon, who positioned himself between Taniguchi and me. “What’s the meaning of this? What are you doing, Taniguchi?”

“Trying to get some justice for my poor bag!”

“Are you deliberately being idiotic today?” asked Kyon.

“Come on, you’ve known all this time she was further out there than Alpha Centauri! The kind of person who does this?” He pointed to the sky. “They don’t want to live in the real world. They’re so out of touch with reality they’re not even living on the same planet as we are. Isn’t that right, Suzumiya?”

Kyon shook, shooting him an intense glare. “Taniguchi, I’m sorry for your bag or whatever trivial thing that incited this nonsense, but if you know what’s good for you, shut the hell up before I punch you in the face.”

That’s nice of you, Kyon. Really, it is. Keep arguing with Taniguchi if you like. I’d be just fine to stop hearing his voice. He’s just like all the other people I passed this morning. He’s just like you, even if you don’t think so. He doesn’t want to see the world changed. He cares more about petty things than looking beyond the scope of the next hour, the next day, the next ten thousand years. Be as you are, I guess, but I won’t let you tell me I can’t do something impossible. If you keep saying those things, I’ll make you shut up.

“I don’t know why you’re coming to her defense!” shouted Taniguchi. “She’s completely strange, and everyone knows it!”

“Why I’m standing by Haruhi is none of your damn business!”

“But look what she’s doing! She’s a freak!”

“You have no right to call her anything of the kind after dating Kuyō!”

“You mean to tell me you never gave thought to going out with Suzumiya?”

“What if I did?”

Taniguchi raised an eyebrow. “Then you’re just as much a freak as she is. You probably like this impossible rainstorm, huh? You like it when she sticks her tongue down your throat and pumps alien embryos into your chest?”

Kyon’s eyes widened. He raised his fist, and this time, it wasn’t Koizumi-kun who stopped him, nor was it I whom he targeted. Kunikida stepped in and caught his arm. They struggled, but Taniguchi didn’t back away. A bold and arrogant idiot. I’ve had enough of you, Taniguchi. You have no imagination. You complain for complaining’s sake. You insult me, and you insult Kyon. You’re worse than the people who look at the sky and give the stars not even a second thought. You don’t look at the stars at all. You’re fixated on the ground and what you know, and you reject something amazing out of hand. Well, you know what? I hate people like that. Do you hear me? I’ve had enough of you, and people like you!

“Let me go, Kunikida!”

“I won’t!”

As Kunikida restrained him, Kyon’s umbrella tumbled to the sidewalk. That was when the rain stopped. One minute, a shower, the next, nothing.

“Well!” Taniguchi looked up, pulling back the hood of his coat. “It’s about time you came to your senses, Suzumiya. A beautiful day shouldn’t be rain—”

CRACK!

The sound was sharp, deafening. I covered my ears. The other students outside dropped to a crouch or ran for shelter.

And Taniguchi stood there, ignorant and oblivious. His collar smoldered. Scorch marks marred the sidewalk. He touched his cheek. “It’s…” He made a face. “It’s hot.”

The heavens opened up again, and Taniguchi collapsed. He lay there, at the gate to our school, as the showers drenched him on a cloudless day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While on the phone with Kyon, Haruhi references the ability of electrons to “tunnel” through a potential barrier in quantum mechanics. Any single particle can do this, though it depends on several factors, including the shape of the barrier and the mass of the particle. In principle, _any_ object could do this, but for classical objects (which include objects even as small as a grain of sand), the likelihood of such quantum magic is virtually zero.
> 
> 6 meters is approximately 20 feet. Haruhi is referencing a visual acuity test (e.g. 20/20 vision).
> 
> At lunch, Kyon refers to dropping a pawn. This is possible in _Shōgi_ , a chess-like Japanese game that uses a 9-by-9 board. Any captured piece can be dropped back onto the board (with some restrictions). Like in chess, pieces can be promoted. Most pieces can be promoted upon reaching or whenever they move within the far third of the board, but a dropped piece can’t be promoted on the turn it’s dropped.
> 
> On Haruhi’s suspension of gravity: a simple application of Newtonian mechanics can be used as a check on the descriptions of this section. Using simple formulas for circular motion, one calculates that the minimum acceleration required to keep objects on Earth’s surface is approximately .03 meters per second per second. Hence, with gravity suspended, after about 15 seconds the objects in class 2-5 will have risen roughly 3.4 meters, or around 11 feet. There is, of course, gravitational acceleration from the Sun, but Haruhi ignores that because she can. 
> 
> The concept of “temporal resonance” described here bears no resemblance to the more traditional concept of objects oscillating with the same frequency. Rather, I took inspiration from the field of chemistry, when several arrangement of covalent bonds all equally describe a molecule. In the context of timelines, the idea is related to the typical grandfather paradox, but as that’s commonly understood, I’ll refrain from describing that here.
> 
> An electron and it’s antimatter counterpart, the position, can come together and destroy each other in a process called _annihilation_. For particularly low energy collisions, the results are simply gamma rays. More energetic collisions (i.e. at higher speeds) can result in a whole slew of particles. The particulars of an annihilation event can be studied through bubble chambers to visualize products careening through the experiment volume.


	4. The Baseball Game

There are five ways lightning can strike a person. If you’re on a corded phone or holding a power cable, the current from a bolt can travel through you to ground. If you’re standing outside and a bolt hits near you, electricity can travel up one leg and out the other—at least, it can if you’re not wearing rubber-soled shoes. Say you’re touching a tree or a metal pole. Lightning that hits that object can travel through you on the way to ground, too. Even if you’re not touching the object that’s struck, current can arc through the air and jump to you.

And then, of course, the lightning bolt can hit you outright.

Lots of things can happen after you’re struck. The heat from electrons moving rapidly through your body can burn your skin, but the strike is so brief the burns are usually shallow and harmless. You’ll probably never remember what happened, though. You might go blind for a while or develop cataracts in the months and years to follow. Your eardrums may blow out, and if they don’t, odds are, even years later, you’ll still hear ringing when it’s quiet at night.

I know I do.

Most importantly, you have to remember that lightning is electricity. It’s current. The brain and nerves run on impulses, but more than that, there’s one delicate circuit in the body that no one can live without.

The heart.

I’d seen it before. The ambulance pulled up to the school gate. The paramedics climbed out with their stretcher and IV bags. They asked questions, but it was like being part of a silent movie without the subtitles to go with it. They cut off his tie with shears. They ripped open his shirt. They wiped down his chest with a towel, picking up water from the surreal rain. They tried to use the same thing that put Taniguchi there—electricity—to bring him back to life.

No.

That’s not right. Electricity wasn’t what put him there, but I—I could only wonder. It’s easy to kill. People do it all the time. They create life, too, but they only know a couple ways to do that. I knew right away, when that bolt took Taniguchi to the ground, that I had the power to snuff life out, but could I bring it back? Could I mend what I’d destroyed? Is it wrong to feel paralyzed, standing there as medics shocked Taniguchi, hoping to revive his heart? Is it wrong to fear, to think that anything you do to heal him might make things worse? To wonder if, deep inside yourself, you might lash out at him again and finish the deed you’d left undone?

They carried Taniguchi into the ambulance, and this time, the medics insisted on no passengers. The crowd of bystanders dispersed. I don’t know when I forgot to protect myself, to shield my body from the rain, but as the faint sirens faded in the distance, I was as wet and cold as anyone without an umbrella should’ve been.

“Haruhi.” Kyon stepped up behind me. “We should go.”

Go where? To class and pretend nothing’s happened? Or home, to forget instead?

“You’re the chief.”

That’s right. I’m the brigade chief. I decide, and my decisions—my actions—reflect upon me. Kyon, did you catch which hospital that ambulance was from?

“Yeah.”

Then there’s only one place we _should_ go.

I still remember that cold winter morning, a week before Christmas Day. People walk up and down steps all the time. You never think someone could trip or stumble. You never think someone you know might fall.

That time, it was Kyon. He had to do a really clumsy thing, taking a dive in the stairwell. We were supposed to get supplies for a reindeer costume, but that…put a damper on things. We should’ve been the only ones there, but I swear I saw the flutter of a skirt. I didn’t catch her face. She tripped Kyon, or she pushed him somehow. He doesn’t remember, but I know it’s true.

That time, Kyon’s family let us stay in his room. We camped out, night after night. That’s what a brigade chief does, you know. She cares for her subordinates. That, and…I didn’t think I could get that sound out of my head—the sound of Kyon’s skull banging on the floor—if I went anywhere else. He was fine after all, not even a scratch!

This time, though, we’d have to wait. The crack of lightning through Taniguchi’s body I wouldn’t forget either, but when Kyon and I arrived at the hospital, the doctors and nurses were still examining him. His family I’ve never met. I wouldn’t know them if I saw them on the street. They weren’t there yet.

It’s funny—I’ve known Taniguchi for a while now. Four years or so. I don’t know anything about him. He’s annoying sometimes. He acts stupid. He asked me out once, back in middle school. Without really thinking about it, I accepted, and he went on for five minutes straight about the date we’d go on, the film we’d see, the restaurant he’d take me to, and then—the ultimate in wishful thinking—if we needed a “leisure hotel” (is that what they started calling them now?) for a few hours afterward, what kind of accessories we’d need for our stay. It’s not like I’m morally opposed to that sort of thing, but that was middle school. I was fourteen. After that kind of talk, he’d have to grow a third arm or something to be interesting enough to hold on to. He’s tagged along with us a couple times since, but I haven’t really talked to him. Honestly, I hadn’t given him more than a second thought. I just remembered him being typical and ordinary. That’s why, when someone like that starts talking to me the way he did—

I shuddered. Gods, somebody punch me in the face for thinking that.

The hospital staff made us wait in a public area. When I had trouble hearing one of them, the nurse took out a flashlight and shined it in my eyes. They tried to take me in for treatment, but I raised hell. Honestly, what are you people doing? Don’t you have better things to do? Why don’t you take care of people who’ve had a few million volts run through their veins? Don’t you think they need some help? Don’t you?

“Hey, hey, Haruhi, settle down!” Kyon stepped in, shielding the nurses from me. He caught my wrists. He restrained me as I flailed. “Settle down,” he said. “Take a breath. You’re shaking.”

I’m not.

“You are.”

It’s the earth moving; that’s all. It’s an aftershock. They’re still having those, right? People could be in trouble.

“No, they’re not,” he said. “Everybody’s fine. I promise.”

We sat there, in the waiting area, watching the seconds hand on the clock tick by. The doctors couldn’t say how long it’d take to treat Taniguchi, just that it was good he’d survived the trip from school. With what books and assignments we’d carried along, we distracted ourselves. We read pamphlets on flu viruses and drug-resistant bacteria. We talked for a while with a graduate student who was milling about, waiting with his extended family in another ward. Two of his aunts had been in a car crash, hit by a drunk driver just a few blocks from their neighborhood. He’d received an e-mail from one of them that evening, the night their car was crushed, wishing him a happy birthday, but she was old and eccentric, prone to making scenes and causing fuss. He didn’t answer her. She died that night, and he never got to reply.

Around lunchtime the rest of the brigade came. Yuki sat down with us at the round table, but she kept her green hardback closed, looking solemnly at the cover instead. Koizumi was polite but distracted, on the phone with his job again. They brought sandwiches from a shop down the street, and we ate quietly. Honestly, Mikuru-chan, you shouldn’t have done that. You’re a third-year. You should be in class.

“A friend of ours is in need,” she said. “Classes aren’t so important when you look at it like that.”

I didn’t know you were so close to Taniguchi.

“Ah, yes,” she said. “Taniguchi-kun, too.”

Aw, Mikuru-chan, you’re so sweet. I think I just want to gobble you up! Come here!

“EH? Suzumiya-san, we can’t do that in public!”

All right, all right, no groping or anything like that. Just a hug, then, from me to you—to all of you, my friends. You didn’t have to, but you came anyway. That much I won’t forget.

I never want to forget.

  


I think it was two or two-thirty when one of the nurses came in. “You five,” she began, “you were with the Taniguchi boy, yes?”

“How is he?” asked Kyon. “Is he all right?”

The nurse hesitated for a moment—I think she looked at all of us and realized just how long we’d been waiting, what we hoped to hear—but then she relaxed, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful gesture. She smiled and nodded, holding the door open for us to enter the ward. “He’s going to be fine,” she said. “I’ll show you to his room.”

They had Taniguchi laid out, snoozing away with sensors stuck to his chest and head. Lightning’s electricity after all—that’s what the nurse told us—and they wanted to be sure he could still breathe and move with no lingering effects. His eardrum had burst, and they were going to check his eyesight later, after the headaches wore off. Burn ointment on his arms and neck glistened in the fluorescent light, but those injuries were superficial, nothing to be concerned about. Even so, his parents were there, sitting in the room with him, standing vigil so he wouldn’t be alone. I didn’t go inside. I didn’t want to intrude, but I did wait there at the glass, even as the others, seeing that Taniguchi was well, went back to school or to the library or to a part-time job emergency that struck in the middle of the school day.

“I guess Koizumi’s got more to do nowadays.” Kyon leaned back against the wall, the window to Taniguchi’s room at his side. His hands in his pockets, he looked at me, and I knew what he was thinking. Just what is this person—this girl who yanks a boy to her bedroom door, who strikes down people because they were being annoying? What’ll she do next?

The doorknob turned. It was Taniguchi’s mother, stepping out with a coin purse in her hands. “Get me a canned coffee, will you?” came a voice from inside. “We should stay awhile.”

“Of course,” she said, easing the door shut. She counted her change for a moment. She didn’t realize we were there. That was all right. She had a lot on her mind, I’m sure. It wouldn’t be a problem to let her pass by. Family should take care of family, after all.

But when you do wrong by someone’s family, you should own up to it. I stepped in front of her. She blinked in surprise, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Oh, hello there. You must be my son’s friends. It’s Suzumiya-chan, isn’t it? From East Middle?”

“That’s right, Ma’am,” I said, bowing. “I’m really sorry for what happened to Taniguchi. It’s all my fault. I got carried away…”

“Hm? Well, I don’t see how that could be. As strange of a rainstorm that was, you all were just chatting at the gate, right? It’s not like you flung the lightning bolt that hit him. That’d be silly, right?” She smiled. “I’m just glad that boy of mine has such good friends to see him through this. Thank you both.”

Um, you’re welcome, but that’s not…you don’t understand!

“You two be safe now,” she said, nodding slightly. She walked down the hall, thinking I was her son’s friend.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was wrong.

  


Kyon offered to walk me home, but I refused him. It wouldn’t be on the way for him, after all. It wouldn’t be convenient.

“To hell with convenience,” he’d said, following behind me as we left the hospital. “Haruhi, I need to talk to you.”

I bet you do. I don’t doubt you have a lot of things to say, Kyon, because when something’s on your mind, you don’t hide it, but after all that’s happened today, I don’t think I can handle it—how blunt and direct you’d have to be. I think we both know what I did. That doesn’t mean I could stand it if someone said it in words.

“That’s fair,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow, then?”

Tomorrow.

I looked both ways and jogged across the access road, with Kyon’s voice ringing in my ears. He called after me, cupping his hands so the world would hear.

“Stay strong, Brigade Chief!”

I’m trying. I’m trying really hard. It’s been a long time since I last felt this…unsettled. I remember last summer, on that remote island, before Koizumi-kun’s mystery was revealed. I think anyone would be genuinely afraid, thinking there could be a murderer in one’s midst, but that was staged. We weren’t in any real danger. No, you’d have to go back further than that.

It was almost four years ago now. I was a first-year in middle school, and Tanabata was coming up. At that time, I was moody and restless. I’d grown dissatisfied with the world and its ordinary pleasures. Yeah, doesn’t sound very different from me now, does it? Well, I was worse then. Mother and Father wanted to go to a festival, but I shot that down. They asked me to write a wish, but I couldn’t think of anything I wanted, anything that’d change the boredom I felt.

That was until the night of the sixth. It was dark, and to the sounds of cicadas’ songs, I stood on the front step to our home. I looked to the stars in the eastern sky—Orihime in near the horizon and Hikoboshi further up, separated by the heavenly river. You can’t see it very well, not in the city. The glow of human lights drowns out the Milky Way, and in the West, the stars Altair and Vega are little different from others. Make a wish, and maybe they’ll hear you. Sure. Will they make the earth turn the other way around? Probably not. So I went inside, thinking nothing would change.

Boy was I wrong. I came back in, and it was dark. The lights were out, the television blank and silent. “Mother?” I called out. “Father?” They didn’t answer. I went back to the door. I pushed and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge. That wasn’t right. Much as you might like them to when you’re an angry child throwing a tantrum, your parents don’t just disappear. The stars through the window don’t vanish instantly behind a murky, gray mist.

I ran upstairs. It was just a joke, right? Mother and Father playing some kind of trick on me. I burst into my room, and that’s where I found something. That’s where I found _it_. I can’t remember what it looked like; I think I recognized it as a person, someone I knew, but when I look back in my mind, it’s a blur—a person veiled in shadow, whose face I can’t discern. She called to me—not in words or sounds but feelings. If I sought something amazing, I should go to her. If I wanted a world of people as dissatisfied with the mundane and normal, I should join her and leave all this behind. Let the world be remade to fit my imaginings.

But there was another “voice” of sorts, angry and pleading where the other was calm. It was a male voice, but his face was a blind spot as well. He begged me not to listen to the other. What should a little girl do then? Choose one eldritch _thing_ over another? I’m not so stupid. Why should I trust something I don’t understand? For all I know, I’d step into the shadow and become the plaything of some apple-munching death god instead. No thanks. I went to the door, but _she_ (whatever she was) asked me something, the simplest question there is. _Why?_ How could I reject something truly mysterious out of fear? To tell the truth, I don’t remember how I answered her, for when I stepped out of that room…

Well, that’s when I woke up.

I didn’t know what to make of that dream. I thought, for a while, it was telling me something—that the world would only be truly amazing if we made it that way, like in our dreams. But that’s boring. Of course your dreams can be anything. There’s nothing new about that. No, I think that’s when I decided to walk a different path instead. If the world wouldn’t make itself interesting, I’d have to do it instead. I’d go out there and look for far-out things like aliens, mental wanderers in espers, and the like. Sketching idly at my desk, I knew right away the message I’d send.

If I hadn’t made up my mind like that, I’d have never met John Smith and known it was the right thing to do. I didn’t shy away then, and I shouldn’t now. I just have to be careful and considerate. If I get carried away, things might happen that I’ll regret.

Well, tomorrow’s another day. Taniguchi’s alive. I could send him some flowers tomorrow. That’d be okay, right? When he’s awake again, I’ll make them from empty ground. I was home, and it was time to let the day wash away like it never happened. With a deep breath, I stepped inside the threshold at our front door.

“Welcome home,” said Mother, writing on a clipboard in front of the television. “Back early?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Something happened at school. One of our classmates was hurt.”

“Ah, so that’s what that call was about.”

Call?

“It was a woman, I think. She said she couldn’t reach you on your cell phone but thought you’d be home soon, so she asked me if I could relay a message. Can you believe it?”

Actually no, Mother. I have my phone on me all the time. Why wouldn’t someone be able to reach me? See? I have it right here. It’s just—

It’s just off.

Bah, of course it’s off. I was in a hospital. I turned it back on, but there were no messages. Did the stranger just not even bother? Or did she know I wouldn’t be able to take her call anyway?

“Mother,” I began, “what did the woman say?”

“She asked to meet you somewhere. ‘The usual place’?”

That’d be the station. Only someone in the brigade—or someone who’s been with us—would know that.

“You’re not thinking of going to meet this woman, are you? Just yesterday, I heard part of the sidewalk there collapsed in a sinkhole. Can you believe it?”

I can believe it, Mother, because I saw it happen. I was there. Well, you didn’t need to know that part. But really, do you think I’ll go meet a stranger just because she asks me to?

“That’s uncommonly sensible for you, Dear. Do you feel well?”

Mother!

She tapped her pen on the clipboard, thinking. “She did say something else, though.”

What’s that?

“Hm, let me see…” She shuffled through her papers, squinting. “Where did I put that…?”

Mother, you forgot? You had to write it down, and you forgot?

“I’m just a little scattered is all.” She held up the clipboard. “See, I’m in chapter forty-seven, and Tsuki-chan’s just found out she was princess of the Crystal Kingdom.”

Mother, are you ripping off Takeuchi-sensei again?

“No!” she protested. “Well, maybe. Don’t people do that all the time? Like, there was that show last winter, right? Where if the girls use their powers too much or despair, they become monsters or something? That’s just the opposite of Takeuchi-sensei’s work, but it’s still a knock-off.”

Maybe, but they didn’t call their protagonist _Tsuki-chan_ , either.

She sighed. “I guess not. Still, that ending—can you believe it? Just going and wiping everything that—”

Mother, if you keep going, we’re going to have to spoil the audience.

“We’re on television?”

No, it’s just—the message. Tell me about the message, won’t you?

“Oh, yes, the message.” She looked over the rim of her glasses at a piece of paper. “Here we go. She told me, ‘I know what happened at the gate today, and I know your daughter does, too.’ What could that be—ah, Haruhi!”

I slipped my shoes back on and bolted out. “I’ll phone when I’m heading back!” I called through the gap in the door, and I shut it behind me. Thank the gods that stranger, whoever she was, didn’t tell Mother what she meant by that. To my parents, I’m just their strange little girl—unusual, yes, but no less their daughter. The last thing I want is to have them asking me to do miracles as soon as I’m home from school. They know I’m different, but they still treat me like any other sixteen-year-old girl. Why? Because they accept that I’m strange, and it doesn’t bother them.

But everyone has their limits.

I ran for the station as fast as my legs would carry me. I wove through groups of pedestrians. I dodged bikes and scooters. Stranger woman, whoever you are—you don’t call my home and expect me to sit by. You don’t talk to my mother about _my_ powers and _my_ business without talking to me first!

When I got to the square outside the station, I was panting, but I’m not weak. I stood upright, catching my breath as I walked. If this woman had been outside the school, maybe I’d recognize her. I trotted by the clock a couple times, searching, scouring the shops and the crosswalks. Where are you, stranger? You can’t hide from me. My eyes see everything. Haven’t I seen you before, orange-haired woman? Yeah, I’m talking to you. In the heels and the plain white, buttoned shirt—haven’t I seen you before?

No, that doesn’t make sense. This person should be waiting for me, not browsing for bread or cheese at the sandwich shop across the way. I looked around the triangular island between the three streets, and that’s how I found her. There was a cherry tree surrounded by a knee-high concrete wall. She sat on a corner, a young sapling at her back. She was casually dressed, wearing a black skirt with white socks and flat, shiny, dark shoes. Her blouse was light blue, and the sleeves came just past her shoulders. She kept a brown leather bag at her feet, and as she checked her watch, she fingered the strap with a pensive, worried look on her face. She didn’t look the way I was used to seeing her, but I’d know her anywhere.

“Mori-san!” I called out. “What are you doing here?”

Her eyes went wide, and she stood up suddenly, bowing. “Suzumiya-sama, good afternoon. I worried, when we couldn’t get through to you, that you might not show.”

“You should’ve just left your name with my mother,” I said. “I’d have come right away! Wow, it’s such a change to see you dressed like this. It’s good, though. It’s cute.”

She bowed again, blushing slightly. “You flatter me, truly. As you must know by now, I’m not a maid by profession, though I have experience with the duties the job requires. Arakawa-san and I are part an acting troupe.”

“Of course,” I said. “Koizumi-kun was lucky to find all of you for his mysteries. You really made both of them feel real.”

She bowed once more. “Again, you flatter me.”

“Well, let me stop before you hurt your back. It’s good seeing you, but why on earth would you call me out here?”

Mori-san’s expression darkened. Her smile faded away. She looked aside. “That’s a difficult question to answer quickly. I should apologize for making you come all this way, but the day does grow late. Perhaps we could speak some other time?”

“No, no,” I said. “I won’t hear of that. You called me out here; the least I can do is hear what you have to say.”

“But Suzumiya-sama—”

“I insist!”

“I see,” she said quietly. “Very well. Please, won’t you sit with me?”

I brushed some dirt off the retaining wall beside Mori-san, but for some moments, we sat quietly, with only car horns and train whistles to break the silence. Mori-san entwined her fingers together, squeezing them. At last, a sound passed through her lips. She spoke.

“As I said, I’m an actress,” Mori-san began, “but I leave that persona on the stage or in my work. Here, I’m just Mori Sonō. Or I would be, but even now, I still have a job to perform. Do you know what that job is?”

I don’t. How could I? I’ve only seen you twice, Mori-san. I don’t know anything about you.

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Of course. That’s only natural. I suppose I’m a mystery to you after all. What should I say? When I moved here, I’d just landed my first big role as Ophelia, and I thought it’d be a stepping stone to bigger and better things, but here I am. Four years later, I’ve not moved on from this place. I’ve tried different things. I did _kabuki_ for a while, until my manager told me, in no uncertain terms, I wasn’t cut out for it.”

No? But Mori-san, you’re amazing! You had all of us fooled on that island. You slip into character like it’s nothing.

“It wasn’t my skill he criticized,” she explained. “On stage, in the midst of a performance, I’d fallen asleep from fatigue, collapsing against the set. He assumed I lacked the stamina, that performing and rehearsal had taken a toll on my body, but that’s not what really happened. I couldn’t tell him the truth because no one would believe me. I’d become obsessed with someone.”

A boyfriend?

“If only. That would’ve been much easier to explain away. No, Arakawa-san and I—he was my mentor at the time—we began to realize something: that the world we live in is subject to whims and flights of fancy. The impossible can become reality. If you tell people this, they’ll look at you strangely. They’ll laugh at you. They’ll demand proof, but you—this doesn’t surprise you, does it?”

Mori-san…what are you saying? Who is this person you became obsessed with? Tell me plainly. Don’t wiggle around with it.

She sighed. “Of course. That’s a fair request. You see, Arakawa-san and I discovered that, to one person’s wishes, the world would respond.” She opened her leather bag and took out a dark blue folder, laying a large-print photograph on top. The cherry tree above us was weak and losing its blossoms. The ones in the photo weren’t. It was a shot of the park by the canal. The cherry trees were in full colors. Two boys sat on a bench, watching a battle waitress, an alien witch, and their director marvel at the falling pink petals. “If she wished for cherry blossoms to bloom again, even in the cooling autumn, they’d oblige her. They’d make her visions real.”

What are you talking about? That was a change in the weather. This photo of yours doesn’t mean anything.

“You’re right. We’ve never caught this person in the act of making the world fit her image of it. We can only infer, based on what she wants and what transpires, whether her wishes have come true. Believe me, Suzumiya-sama, that’s not the only piece of evidence we have. Look.” Another photo. A flock of white pigeons congregated at a shrine. “She found these birds too dull in their natural gray color. She made their feathers white instead. You remember, don’t you? You’ve been to this shrine before.”

That’s ridiculous. What kind of creepy stalker are you? Making up these stupid stories like you can convince me I’m something I’m not? Get out of here. All you’re showing me is proof of someone’s cruelty to animals, painting a flock of birds to suit their fancy. You can’t tell me I made it happen. I didn’t have anything to do with it!

“Just like you had nothing to do with making a fifty-yen coin into a hundred to quench your thirst?”

I bolted from my seat. How the hell do you know about that?

“I know because we always thought it was just a matter of time. I gave up on moving forward with acting. I devoted my life to watching you, to studying you and preserving your mental state. There are so few of us who believe, who know for a fact what power you have. We watch because no one else will, because no one else would believe the world heeds the thoughts and feelings of a simple high-school girl.”

I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care to know, all right? Get away from me, you creepy freak, you deluded woman!

“Or what?” She held out a third photo—the gate to school, with me and Kyon and Kunikida standing all around _him_ , that boy on the ground. “You’ll strike me down like you did Taniguchi-kun?”

I shuddered. Stop that. That’s a lie. You hear me? I didn’t do that on purpose; it was an accident!

“You’ve been doing it for years! You did it just a few days ago! Look over there!” She pointed. “Look at that, the broken concrete, the crack in the ground two meters wide. You threatened a boy with power you didn’t know you had!”

How is that my fault? I didn’t know! I didn’t want anything like that to happen!

“But you did! You must’ve! Whatever you want but are too stubborn to admit, you make happen! That’s why you’re dangerous. That’s why this has to stop. You need to control this power, Suzumiya-sama. You need to control it, control yourself, or shut it off. I know you’re a good person. You don’t want to hurt anyone, but in the back of our minds, we wish death or suffering on people all the time. I’m not asking you to be inhumanly good and moral, but do the right thing. You can’t use these powers you have. You can’t make me and my friends keep watching you and babysitting you, waiting for the moment you’ll destroy the world! You must end it! Shut off your powers and never use them again!”

Like I even know how to shut anything off! Like I’d not use them! Really? Maybe you’ve been watching me, but it sounds like you don’t know anything about who I am or how I think. What I can do changes the reality of the world. You’d have to be a fool to give that up, and _you’re_ a fool for asking me to! I don’t care how it’s ruined your life; you did that to yourself! Leave me alone and never come back, or I don’t know what I’ll do to you!

“You’ll erase me.”

I turned my back on her. Traffic was heavy around the station. Could I get away from her? Could I just disappear and pop back into my room?

“Isn’t that what happened to Asakura Ryōko?”

Asakura? The old class rep?

“You made her disappear, didn’t you?”

You have no idea what you’re talking about. She went to Canada or some nonsense.

“To a lonely prairie house in Manitoba? A strange place for a Japanese family to suddenly move to. You never really believed that fiction. Look at me.”

I stood my ground.

“Look at me, Suzumiya Haruhi, unless you’re afraid of what I have to say!”

I’m not afraid, damn you. I’m not. I turned, facing her. She had one more photo to show me: a shot of wilderness, with nothing but flat grasses as far as the eye could see.

“This is where the Asakura house should be,” she said. “It doesn’t exist. It never has. She was removed from your school. Her records point to nowhere. Now tell me—what did she do to you? Did she insult you? Did she make you angry?”

I never had anything against that girl!

“Didn’t you? Don’t you know what she was doing in her last hour before she disappeared from this earth? She sent a note to a friend of yours, that boy you’re so close to—Kyon-kun, isn’t it?”

I don’t know anything about that! If I’d known Kyon were meeting with a girl after school, I would’ve—

“You would’ve punished him? And punished the girl, too? That’s a human reaction. Those are human feelings of jealousy, possessiveness—”

That’s not how I feel about him!

“But it is, isn’t it? How else can you explain it? You knew what she would do. You knew she’d confess to him. You knew she was charming and friendly, both of which you weren’t. You knew she’d win him from you, so you erased her. You made it so she disappeared. With your powers, you changed her records so no one would miss her. And the best part? _You’d never even know you’d done it._ ”

No…it’s not true! It can’t be! I didn’t know about Asakura’s note, and even if I did, I would never—

“You would never? You’d never send a poor boy to the hospital by sending a lightning bolt through his heart? You’d never smack a girl on the back of her head while she was drunk and helpless, hoping to make her contact lens fly out? I _do_ know who you are; do you know anything about yourself?”

I balled my fists. I trembled. You know what, Mori-san? Fuck you! I’ve not done anything wrong!

“Believe what I say or erase me.” She packed up her back, rising. “I don’t want to be in this world anymore, a world where I’m afraid your petty whims will twist everything I’ve ever known. I want to focus on my acting again, but you won’t let me do that. Stop using this power. Stop before you hurt someone again.”

She bowed once more—a meaningless, insulting gesture after what she said—and she trotted along the crosswalk without a word. I watched her go with a heavy glare. Damn you, Mori Sonō. I won’t forget this. I’ll get you back! I’ll—

I’ll make you disappear.

If I didn’t stop myself, I’d make you disappear. I’d prove everything you said about me absolutely right.

What am I?

What have I become?

Did I really make someone…go away?

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. It’s supposed to be fun and exciting and incredible! People shouldn’t get hurt. They shouldn’t get blanked out like they were brushed over with correction fluid, never to be seen again. I won’t do that. I _shouldn’t_ do that. I can’t…

“Young Lady?”

It was a stranger, a businessman. He put down his briefcase and looked at me with a puzzled expression.

“Are you all right?” he asked me. “Why are you crying?”

I’m not crying. The water’s just coming out of my eyes—that’s all.

“Here.” He offered a white handkerchief from his breast pocket. “You can keep it if you like. I don’t mind.”

“NO!” I cried. I batted that _thing_ out of his hand. Get away from me! Are you stupid? Don’t you value your life? You have to get away from me! You have to get away before I get angry, before I erase you without thinking about it! Don’t you understand? GET AWAY!

He scampered off in a hurry, nearly forgetting his briefcase and clutching his hat so it wouldn’t blow away. I left too. Water clouding my sight, I ran through an intersection on the road home. I burst through the door and kicked off my shoes, running upstairs before Mother could say a word. I locked the bedroom door behind me and threw myself on my bed, and the tears soaked into the pillowcase. It wasn’t for me; it was for everyone else. Stay away, Mother. Stay away, Father. Stay away, my friends in the SOS Brigade. If something inside me gets angry with you, if it decides you should never be, I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know how…

I don’t know how.

I don’t know how.

  


When you think about it calmly, though—when you’ve had a night to sleep on things and can sit on your bed, watching the sun light up the morning sky at dawn—there’s really only one thing any reasonable person would do. As the darkness turned to light, I got back up. I changed into a new uniform. I brushed my teeth. I went downstairs and devoured breakfast—what else could I do, having missed dinner the night before?

There’d be no supernatural rain on the walk to school, and any flowers that appeared at Taniguchi’s hospital room would be from the florist, not any magic seeds growing outside his window. I felt each step under my feet on the way to school, and not once did I wish for it to be even a meter shorter. Through classes that day, I listened studiously. Put everything else out of your mind while you work; that’s the only way to get things done, after all. Even in a short life of thirty-five years, you can have a great impact on the world. Ask Masaoka, and he’d tell you, if he were still around—before his time, we had words for poems like _haiku_ and _tanka_ , but he helped give them the name we know today, making them different, distinct, special.

These are the fundamental facts that make up the world—that the value of an analytic function on a boundary determines its values everywhere inside. When you think about it, that’s pretty magical, yet most people wouldn’t even give it a second thought. It’s for that I decided I could live without creating bizarre and amazing things. The world is already interesting enough.

“The world is what?”

I said that it was interesting enough, Kyon, though I’ll excuse you for not paying attention this time. It was afternoon in the club room, and I guess I caught everyone off-guard. Mikuru-chan stared, pouring tea into an overflowing cup. Yuki put down her book, Koizumi-kun raised an eyebrow, and Kyon—well, Kyon could only parrot back part of what I said.

“I heard you fine,” he insisted, “It’s just…where’s all this coming from?”

Let’s just say I had a long talk with someone I thought I knew. That person set me straight, in a way. You were right yesterday, Kyon: going about, making things happen without thinking about the consequences—it was reckless, and after what I did to Taniguchi, I can’t ignore that. The SOS Brigade is about finding the mysteries in this world. I guess I’m one of those mysteries too, but for now, that can wait. I don’t want people to be afraid of me. I don’t want to be afraid of myself. I’m just glad all of you were there yesterday. Taniguchi needed you most, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t need you guys, too. So thanks, all of you. You’re the best brigade a chief could have.

Koizumi-kun nodded. “You’re eloquent as always, Suzumiya-san. I think it is a weight off all of us to know that Taniguchi-kun will recover, to see clearly that there _are_ aspects of this world we don’t yet understand and feel emboldened in the pursuit of them.”

That’s the spirit. So let’s just go back to the way things were, all right? Yuki can read. Mikuru-chan can make tea. Koizumi-kun, you can play a board game with Kyon or something. I’ll just watch. I’m okay with that. In this room, we’re all friends. That’s something we should never forget.

The afternoon passed quietly, and when Yuki closed her book for the day, we quietly adjourned, but as the boys left the room to Mikuru-chan, there was one thing still on my mind. Yeah, that was the time—late in the afternoon, as the sunset started pouring through the window. If Mori-san were right, that would’ve been the time of day Kyon chose to go back to our classroom and meet with our class rep.

Honestly, I must’ve gone over that day a thousand times. I go home early for one day, and the next, what happens? Asakura’s gone? I always thought that was fishy. I just never considered _I_ could’ve had anything to do with it.

Did I?

While Mikuru-chan was changing, I took Kyon aside in the hallway. I started off with the simple questions: if he remembered Asakura, if anything strange happened that day before she left.

“I remember her too well,” he said. “I don’t think anything unusual took place, though.”

So you didn’t get a love letter from her in your shoebox?

“Who told you that?”

Did you or didn’t you?

“I, ah…yeah, I did get a note that day.”

A love letter?

“It didn’t say. Haruhi, what’s this about? Why are you bringing this up now?”

Did you meet her? Did she confess to you?

“She didn’t exactly confess or anything. She asked a lot of strange questions.”

And?

“And what?”

What else?

“That’s…look, Haruhi, this is what I wanted to explain to you.”

What do you mean? You knew it was funny she left all of a sudden, just after taking you aside like that?

“Well of course it was strange, but that’s not what I’m saying.”

Kyon, don’t, really. Don’t even start; I’ve heard enough. Even if all the details aren’t there, it’s enough like what Mori-san said. All it would’ve taken is a hint, right? I could’ve lashed out and never known the difference. I gave myself something interesting and took her out at the exact same time.

“What are you babbling about?” Kyon demanded. “And what does it have to do with Mori-san? Did she tell you all of this?”

So what if she did?

Kyon glanced over his shoulder with a cross glare. He was stiff and solemn and wouldn’t say a word.

“Suzumiya-san!” The club room door cracked open. “Suzumiya-san, can you help me? I think I lost a stocking.”

Lost a stocking? Honestly, Mikuru-chan, how long have we been doing this? If you’re losing clothes in the club room, you’ll give Kyon ideas. I went back inside, making sure to block the door so neither Kyon nor Koizumi-kun could see. Look, Mikuru-chan, you hung it up here on the divider. Don’t tell me you didn’t look here at all.

“Ah, sorry for troubling you,” she said, bowing. “I guess I’ve gotten used to Suzumiya-san helping me change sometimes.”

Aw. That’s all right, Mikuru-chan. We can just let the boys imagine that you’re walking around with one stocking, looking helplessly for the other. They’ve been waiting so patiently after—

“WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU BASTARDS THINKING?”

After all, it’s not like Kyon’s shouting can be heard through the door or anything like that.

I ducked into the hall, and there was Kyon. He held Koizumi-kun by the collar and pressed him against the wall.

“I assure you I had nothing to do with it!” cried Koizumi-kun. “That’s the truth!”

“Liar! How could this have happened without you knowing about it?”

Hey! Whatever it is between you two, knock it off! I’m the brigade chief, and I won’t permit any in-fighting! Understood?

“Haruhi, you don’t know what he did!”

I won’t if you don’t tell me, Kyon. Put him down, or it’s extra penalties for you! You’ll be buying coffee for us until second year in university, you know!

Kyon squinted, sizing Koizumi-kun up. “You’d better be telling the truth,” he said, and he let Koizumi-kun go. With a heavy sigh, Kyon wiped his brow with his sleeve and started walking. Hey, where are you going? I’m not done with you. Kyon!

“Please, Suzumiya-san, let him be,” said Koizumi-kun, loosening his collar. “The matter at hand may not be a fault of mine, but I can take responsibility for it.”

That’s the question, Koizumi-kun: responsibility for what?

  


I’d like to say I got more out of Koizumi-kun than a vague assurance, but I didn’t. He kept his mouth utterly shut about whatever happened that day, and Kyon was the same. I pressed them mercilessly about it. I threatened them. I said they’d have to stand on their heads in clown costumes while Mikuru-chan and I pelted them with yogurt.

“Why yogurt?” Kyon had asked.

Because ice cream could actually hurt if it’s thrown properly! And don’t facepalm at me like that!

Nevertheless, despite my efforts at cool and unusual punishment, neither budged, and for the time being, I let it go. They didn’t fight any more, not in my sight, but I knew it’d take more than a quiet standoff to patch things up. That’s why I waited at Kitaguchi Station on Saturday afternoon, a ringing cell phone in my hand.

“Yo! Haru-nyan!”

When Tsuruya-san’s on the line, it practically explodes with energy.

“Mikuru and I will be there soon, okay? You’re at the station already, aren’t you?”

Leaning by the doorway in the shade. Always be first whenever you have something to do.

“That’s the spirit! Listen, Mikuru’s being stubborn; she won’t let me dress her for the occasion!”

Should’ve asked me. I’d have helped.

“Well, that’s all right. We’ll be just a few minutes, and then we can cheer our lungs out, okay?”

We’ll shout until the world is tired of hearing us. That’s a promise.

For our make-up weekend outing, Tsuruya-san had been invited to an event. There’s nothing more invigorating than an afternoon under the sun, with the wind at your back and a healthy glare coming off the bleachers. Put on some sunblock and wear a cap. Bring some towels to stay cool, and I hope you have a scorecard to keep track. That’s right; it’s exactly what you’re thinking.

The SOS Brigade was bound for a baseball game.

I’d made it to the station by three-thirty, suited up and ready for battle. Make no mistake: baseball _is_ a battle, and more than most other sports, it’s a lesson in cause and effect. For each pitch, there’s a discrete set of conditions and situations. How many balls? How many strikes? Who has the lead and by how many runs? When the batter puts the ball in play, when he hits a double to the right-field corner and drives in two, the situation changes. The pitcher, the coaches, and everyone on the field has to reassess the state of the game. Can they pitch so aggressively having lost part of their lead?

It’s that time of contemplation—between batters, between pitches—that makes baseball appealing and unique. Whether you want to or not, you have to pause and consider what’s happened. You have to focus on the consequences of your actions. You can’t avoid it, not if you want to win. Whether you’re on the pitching mound or standing outside a train station, a hundred-yen coin in hand, you have to look back on what you’ve done—not to decide if it was right but to understand what’s changed and how best to move forward.

That’s what baseball’s about: living with the consequences, even if they aren’t fair. That’s why I waited at the station, holding the hundred-yen coin from the vending machine between my fingers. I gave it up—something amazing—because it was the right thing to do. I don’t regret that. Why should I? Someone with power who uses it recklessly shouldn’t be allowed to use it at all. That’s just the common sense thing to do. The brigade would keep searching for the unusual, the unnatural, the strange. There are other amazing things out there, not just me. When I think about what I can do…

Well, that’s why I stayed close to the outer wall of the station, away from sinkhole that was blocked off by cones, away from the cherry tree where Mori-san yelled at me and called my boldness out for what it was: selfish and dangerous. Sometimes, I guess, you have to give yourself up on a sacrifice fly. That’s the right thing to do.

“It’s difficult, isn’t it.”

It was a woman’s voice—low and gravely, distorted with age. She wore a red _yukata_ and had long, flowing hair—all gray, but still beautifully kept. She walked slowly, easing her weight on a single steel rod with rubber ends, a baton-like cane.

“I know that look on your face, Young Lady,” she said. “It’s the look of a girl who’s just given up a dream.”

What makes you say that, Grandma?

“I’ve seen it on my own face, long ago. Long I’d wished to be an explorer of sorts, to study ancient cultures, you might say, yet before I could tell left from right, I was chosen. Did I choose that path for myself? Or was it fate and the inexorable hand of causation? Who can say, but here I am, completing the circle, fully aware that the first step I took upon it I didn’t understand. As I said, Young Lady, I gave up a dream. I did it because I was forced to. With you, I’m not so sure.”

With the old woman beside me, I flipped the coin. It tumbled, end over end. It kicked off my knuckle, rolling away, and I jogged to chase after it.

“You see?” the old woman went on. “Even now, you hold on to that thing. You dare not let it disappear. Where are you going, Young Lady? Where are you going that you need a hundred-yen coin so badly?”

If you must know, Grandma, my brigade and I are going to see a baseball game. A regional qualifying round for Kōshien or something. A friend of ours was invited; it’s not like we need money. What’s it to you?

“So that’s what you think? Interesting. Well, for all our sakes, I hope you know what you’re headed for. There are people—on this plane and others—who wish to see you repeat history. That wouldn’t be a very fair choice, would it?”

What are you talking about?

“You’ll see,” said the old woman. “All things become clear in time, do they not? For now, however, I think you should focus on today.” She loosened her belt, removing an object that’d been pressed against her waist. “You’ll need this.”

It was a baseball cap with a bright yellow bill. The logo on the top—a golden _H_ with a white _T_ through the middle—should be unmistakable to anyone around here.

“I don’t need that,” I said. “We’re going to a high-school game.”

She shook her head. “Unlike you, I have the benefit of history, of memory.” She put the cap in my hands. “You should think carefully about your friends. This isn’t the only thing they haven’t told you. They’re not who you think they are. That’s what makes their loyalty all the more remarkable.”

Who are you, Grandma?

“Just an old friend of yours,” she said, limping away on her cane. “Don’t worry. We’ll see each other again soon.”

We will?

“Count on it,” she said, pausing at a corner. “That’s a promise, Suzumiya Haruhi-san.”

What the? Does everyone in the world know who I am? Wait a minute—you can’t just walk away from me!

I followed the old woman around the corner. She wouldn’t get far from me, after all, not with that cane and the hunch in her back, but when I gazed down the side of the station, she was nowhere to be seen, like she just popped out of existence, never to be seen again. All she left me with were a bunch of cryptic words and that dusty old ball cap.

A Hanshin Tigers ball cap. She said I’d need it today.

“Hey!” came a voice. “Haru-nyan!”

Jogging across the street came Tsuruya-san. She waved to me with one hand and took Mikuru-chan along with the other.

“Looks like you’re ready for the big game, too; awesome!”

I might’ve been ready, but Tsuruya-san was decked out in Tigers gear: a jersey, a flag, black and yellow paint streaked beneath her eyes. You guys—you didn’t tell me we were going to the Tigers game. I thought we were going to a Kōshien qualifier or something.

“What gave you that idea?” Tsuruya-san held out the pack of six tickets, fanning them out for each one to be seen. “It’s going to be a blast, that’s what! We’ve got to show those Giants what we’re made of, right, Mikuru?”

“There are giants playing baseball? Isn’t that unfair?”

It’s just if we’re actually going to Kōshien today, I expected you guys would tell me flat out!

Tsuruya-san blinked. “Why’s that? You don’t like the Tigers? That’s all right; it’s not like I’m a huge fan or anything either, but if you’re going to a game, you should dress the part, right? It’s all about the experience. See, I tried to get Mikuru here to paint her face, but she just shied away every time I got the brush close!”

It’s not that I don’t like the Tigers. It’s just that I have a good memory, and I’ve been there before. That day was a summer day, too.

  


The six of us had gathered by about four-thirty, and we took the bus south, toward the stadium. Already, the route was packed with people. A young boy listened to the radio through tiny earbuds, telling his father the starting lineups. Two girls across from us ate happily from FamilyMart boxed lunches, which had been relabeled “FamilyMurton” lunches in honor of the American right fielder. Baseball was in the air, and Tiger fever is eternal. That much hasn’t changed in the last five years. The fans were just as enthusiastic, regardless of the standings or the weather. When you get to Kōshien, there’s only one thing that matters: baseball’s going to be played, and if it’s Hanshin at home, then they’re the only ones to root for. For a little girl in her sixth year of primary school, it was stunning to me how that mass mentality had taken hold. Through all this time, I haven’t forgotten.

“Haruhi, is this really okay?”

The voice beside me was Kyon’s. He’d taken the aisle seat, looking disinterested, but I knew that was just a front. He was mulling over something again. That much he couldn’t hide.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Going to Kōshien like this, all of a sudden,” he whispered. “You didn’t know, did you?”

I don’t see why that makes it a problem. Tsuruya-san came across some tickets. It’s fine.

“It’s not. I asked her about it. She said she got the tickets in the mail, from an anonymous sender who suggested she find five other friends to go with.”

So what.

“This isn’t a coincidence. Someone’s screwing with us, screwing with you.”

How could they do that? How could a mysterious sender know Kōshien is a special place to me?

Oh, I get it. The mysterious sender is you!

“Be serious.”

Well, if it’s not you, then who else would know? Who did you tell that story to?

“No one!” he protested. “I would never—” He grimaced. “You bared your soul to me that day. I don’t treat it lightly.”

Then the question remains, Kyon: who could’ve done this on purpose?

He faced forward, frowning. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

The bus pulled into Kōshien Station, and from road and rail, eager fans walked the path to the stadium. Even in this small mass of people—a few hundred, a thousand at the outside—it’s easy to feel like you’re just one of many. It’s just three minutes from the station to the gate, but to a grade-schooler, it was like treading through a dense rainforest. The trees tower above you, and you can’t see more than a half a meter forward or back. That summer day five years ago, my father had realized how lost I was. He carried me for a while—as long as his back would let him—and only then did I glimpse the extent of the crowd. The stadium’s changed since then. It’s been renovated, improved, but the fans are still the same. People are still the same.

Mikuru-chan, Koizumi-kun, and Yuki had never been to Kōshien before, so before we cleared the gate, Tsuruya-san resolved to lead us on a grand tour. The ivy was thinner than I remembered, but the monument to Ruth had stood enduring. We bought Mikuru-chan a Tigers cap, which she wore lightly, hoping not to mess up her hair too much. Honestly, Mikuru-chan, you wouldn’t need to initial the brim with black marker if you’d wear the cap properly.

We squeezed through the always-narrow, crowded aisles, securing our seats. With ice packs from the vendor to keep us cool, we waited for first pitch as the stadium filled. It doesn’t hold as many people as it used to, either. The program said official capacity was just forty-eight thousand after renovations. Does a change of seven thousand people make that much of a difference? When they all shout together and cheer, no, it really doesn’t. You can hear crowd clearly, yet if you go just a kilometer or two away, their combined voices would be sound like little more than a whisper. You might think you have the loudest, most enthusiastic fans gathered together in one place—and you might even be right—but that doesn’t make them that unique or special. Anyone can be fanatical about something. Anyone can shout and holler. That doesn’t make them special.

The game got off to a quick start. After Iwata put Yomiuri down in the top of the first, Hanshin went to bat. Murton led off, watching a third strike fly by. The center fielder, Hirano, singled up the middle. Then, Toritani came up and hit a weak ball to short, which was thrown past first. Hirano trotted easily into third. A walk and a sacrifice fly gave the Tigers a one-run lead, and let me tell you, though it was still an out, the crowd roared for it. You could feel the excitement around you. It was electric. Seeing almost fifty-thousand people stand and cheer, you can’t help but feel like the world is so much bigger than you.

I looked down; I stayed in my seat. Kyon was right. Being here again was getting to me. I remembered so clearly what I’d thought that day, five years ago: if my class at school was just one of many, how could any of us be special? Why couldn’t I be special and different? Through three years in middle school, nothing had changed. Even our first year in high school, nothing changed, or so I thought. If Mori-san had been right, I’d changed long before the new term began. I’d altered things, made them the way I wanted, without even realizing it. I’m special, but I can’t show it. I shouldn’t.

But I was tempted. By the top of the seventh, night had fallen, and it was 4-2 Hanshin. Not much had happened since Murton hit a two-run double in the fourth, giving the Tigers a lead again. Maybe that’s why my attention to the game was flagging. I ended up watching the fans around us more. For everyone else in this stadium, the game was the most important thing in the world. They couldn’t see beyond themselves. They didn’t want to.

All just like before.

With a quick strikeout from the new pitcher, Enokida, everyone in the stadium got out their balloons.

“Balloons?” asked Mikuru-chan, looking at deflated piece of rubber Tsuruya-san handed her. “What are the balloons for?”

Taking your mind off things and having fun. That’s right. That’s what we’re here to do. Just blow it up, Mikuru-chan; you’ll see. Don’t tie it off, though. Keep it pinched when you’re done.

Hesitantly, Mikuru-chan blew. The balloon grew into a long, inflated shaft with a bulbous end. The rubber swelled, stretching thinner. What’s the matter, Kyon? You’re crossing your legs. Is there something unsettling about watching Mikuru-chan pucker up and blow?

“Don’t even get me started,” he said, turning away.

The yellow rubber paled. Mikuru-chan, you need to stop! You can’t just blow and blow until—

POP!

Oh well, I’m sure you’re thinking. A balloon popped, annoying but no big deal. And ordinarily, that’d be right. We’d have covered our ears from the pain and given Mikuru-chan another to try again. That would’ve been…if Mikuru-chan hadn’t sat on the end of the row, if a woman with a tray of drinks hadn’t passed by at that exact moment and, looking for the source of the noise, lost her footing on the step between rows. Her sole slipped on the edge of the step. The tray of drinks tilted; she flailed. She fell.

THUD!

“Ma’am?” Kyon rushed out of his seat, stepping over the growing puddle of fizzing brown cola. “Are you all right?”

The woman sat up, wincing. She touched the back of her head gingerly and held her fingers before her eyes, rubbing a drop of red liquid dry with blank curiosity, like she didn’t understand what she was seeing.

“Hey, over here!” Kyon called toward the gate. “We need some help!”

An usher ran out, radio in hand. He sent for medics, even if only for a minor scratch. Better to be safe, after all. Better to provide what assistance he could, rather than let things be the way they’d be. He made sure the woman kept her head upright. He talked to her and insisted she not stop, even as the crowd cheered the third out and she wondered what was happening.

“Ma’am,” I said, “you lost all your drinks just now, right?”

She nodded slowly, her gaze distant, like she looked through me.

“Then I’ll get some more for you, okay?”

“You want me to go with you?” asked Tsuruya-san.

No thanks. I’ve got it.

I ran up the stairs and through the gate. Concessions, concessions—to hell with concessions. I went to the toilet. In all the renovations they’d done here, the old, crappy facilities hadn’t changed a bit. I ran water from a sink, and the stream cut in and out, like the pipes were coughing. I splashed my face with cold water and braced myself on both sides of the basin, looking in the mirror. That woman—I saw it happening. I saw her foot buckle and slide. I could’ve stopped it. If she’d fallen harder, if she’d cracked her head on the steps, it wouldn’t just be something I _should’ve_ done.

No, I can’t think like that; I have to remember what Mori-san said. I don’t have control. If I let everything go, I could do something even more horrendous without meaning to—or _because_ I meant to, just for a moment, and didn’t think better of it.

What happened to that woman on the steps—that’s just a stupid accident. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s not my fault.

“I’m disappointed in you, Suzumiya-san.”

A strong, echoing voice. In the close quarters of the toilet, it felt like it resonated coming back at me from all directions. I spun around, looking, searching, but the other women coming into the facilities passed me by without a glance.

“An innocent person needed your help, and you coldly turned your back on her. You’ve yearned to call yourself unique, yet you reject what makes you special so easily. Even the plight of another isn’t enough to bring that out. How boring.”

Who are you? Who’s there? Where are you hiding, in a stall?

I kicked at a door to a toilet, and there was a distinctively horrified shout from inside. Not at all like the calm, upbeat voice that taunted me.

“You won’t find me with your eyes, Suzumiya-san. I’ve manipulated the data here to conceal myself from visible light, but maybe, if you use your power, you can see me. If not, you’ll just have to follow my voice.”

Why? Give me a reason not to walk out of this room and go back to the game. Why should I stay around a taunting, invisible voice, huh?

“Again, you sadden me. Someone’s talking to you that you can’t see. Isn’t that interesting enough for you? Isn’t that unique?”

It could be a microphone hidden in the mirror.

“How eager you are to deny the incredible even when it’s right in front of you.” The source of the voice moved toward the doorway; the angles and intensities of her echoes changed subtly. It _was_ like a person was there, just hiding out of sight. “That’s your defining paradox, Suzumiya-san. It’s something we don’t fully understand.”

‘We?’

“We’re very interested in you. We know what you can do. Your power makes you more special than you realize. I could tell you so very much about it if you like.”

Uh-huh. I’m missing the seventh-inning stretch. Why don’t you move your invisible self and go back to stalking me like Mori-san or something else. I’m tired of people who know my name before I ever met them.

Without even a hint of anger in her voice, the invisible girl answered. “You’re as persistent as ever, Suzumiya-san. Tell me: would you walk away even if that makes me kill every person in this stadium?”

What?

She giggled. “Follow me. I promise it’ll be worth the chase. And if you don’t, everyone watching this lovely game will die a terrible death. That’d be interesting to me, too. What will it be, Suzumiya Haruhi-san?”

Her laughter grew faint. She was walking away—if she even walked at all, but let’s just call it that, not knowing if she were a person or some sort of eight-legged alien with glowing eyes or what. She walked away, and I went after her, into the walkway with concession stands and memorabilia vendors on either side.

“Over here!” she called out, like a schoolgirl skipping merrily on her way home. I pushed and shoved my way through the burgeoning crowd, passing gate after gate. The stands rattled; the music over the stadium speakers boomed.

Powerful hits and skillful pitch achieved a thousand times   


Trained with every discipline here at Kōshien   


Crowned with constant victory glorious, matchless feat

“You’ll lose me if you can’t see,” the voice called out. “If I get away, will that be enough, Suzumiya-san? Or will you let me destroy all these people?”

What can she do—set off a bomb? If she can make herself invisible, it could be in plain sight, too! So why does she want me to follow her? Damn you; show yourself!

Always proud, invincible Hanshin Tigers   


Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Hanshin Tigers   


Go, go, go, go!

As the final bars of the Tigers fight song faded into the night, I glimpsed something in the crowd. It was an outline, a distortion—human-shaped, but that’s all I could discern. The invisible girl ran through a gate, into the stands, and I followed, keeping the shadow in sight.

“Good,” she intoned. “Did you even realize what you did? You changed the properties of your rods slightly, giving them sensitivity to near-infrared. You didn’t even know it, but you found a wavelength of light my cloak doesn’t shield against. It’s the sort of thing we hoped you would do.”

Shut up! Stop talking, or tell me what you really want. I’m tired of this stupidity!

“What we want is simple. We want you to use your power. It’s a unique phenomenon in this universe, and we wish to learn from it.”

I’m not going to oblige you just to appease your petty curiosity. Screw that!

“Then you force me to make good on my promise. Oh well. That’s okay, too.”

There was a whine. Thousands of long, bulbous balloons deflated, flying over the stands. They sputtered into the black of night, a blackness that turned silver and white, shimmering, morphing into colors indescribable, shapes foreign to human eyes.

“This space is under my jurisdiction now,” said the voice. “As for how I’ll kill these people, I think I’ll use an idea from you.”

Slowly, subtly, the empty balloons that fluttered to earth began to halt. Cups of soda floated from their holders. No, no, no—you can’t do this. I did this. What the hell are you that can do this, too?

“It’s more than just shrimp burgers and popcorn boxes flying away. Don’t you see?”

The crowd murmured—a panicked, sudden cry. People gripped their seats, clawed for something to hold on to. Those who couldn’t rose from the stands—not on their own two feet but from inertia. The earth beneath them was spinning, yet its pull of gravity no longer held them to the ground. With nothing to hold them fixed to this Earth, their own momentum would carry them to the stars.

“I know a long fall can kill a human,” said the voice. “I know that magic height varies with size and shape and weight. That’s not what interests me, Suzumiya-san. It’s easy to kill a human. Your bodies are so very fragile. No, I don’t want these people to fall and die right away. We’re going to hold an experiment. We’re going to watch all these people as they fall, one by one, back to the ground, but they won’t die on the spot. Their bones will break. Their skulls will bleed, and I’ll watch them. Some will struggle, I’m sure. In fact, I’m counting on it. Let them flail for their lives. Let them scratch at the ground and crawl. For a data entity like me, we either are or we aren’t. It’s discrete. It’s binary. But for beings like you, Suzumiya-san, you cling to life to the very end. I want to see that. I want to look into a child’s eyes as the life within her fades away.”

You’re sick!

“ ‘Sick’? You’re so closed-minded. I’m merely curious. It’s going to be a wonderful source of data on organic life, on the reactions of cells and the body to trauma. If we can’t observe your power, Suzumiya-san, this will do for now. It’ll be fascinating seeing how _you_ react to it. So tell me—are you so stubborn you won’t help these people? Are you so resistant to using your power again you’d let me kill them? Look at them: so desperate to stay on this earth, they cling to their seats with all their strength, but their muscles won’t hold out forever! Inevitably, they’ll tire and float away, or perhaps I’ll rip these people from their handholds and force you to act. Either way, you must return gravity to this place quickly, Suzumiya-san! Return it before too many fly off, destined for a fatal fall! What will you do, hm? I’ll be very interested to find out!”

People. Thousands of people grabbed at their seats or support pillars. Like the world had been turned upside-down, their feet floated upwards with the force that pulled them away. If they let go, they’d claw at air and fly in slow-motion until the fall was too great.

All this just to get to me. What does everyone know that I don’t? Mori-san, the old woman, now this invisible, maniacal girl. I don’t know what to do. I won’t erase another person. I won’t strike anyone else down. I can’t be responsible for anything like that, but I can’t let all these people be treated like discarded toys and stomped underfoot, either! There are children here.

My friends are here. Tsuruya-san, Koizumi-kun, Mikuru-chan, Kyon—

THWAP!

The mystical, shimmering light went black. The stands rumbled; the spectators fell back into their seats. Some cried out as they landed. Others stood up in disbelief. And in front of me, the invisible girl had been made clear. She wore a North High uniform, and a single metal spear cut through her shoulder, with seeping blood staining her clothes near the wound. Her hair was long and dark and flowing.

I felt a chill. She shouldn’t be here. She was erased! Yet instead, she stood before me with a grin, even as she admired the weapon that’d brought her to light.

“Oh my.” She pulled the spear out and cast it aside. “How very unexpected. Well, it looks like your powers won’t be needed today. I’ve overstepped and been disciplined, but there are others like me who want to meet with you. You know where to find me.”

Where?

“At home, of course.” She nudged the spear toward me, rolling it with a kick of her foot. It changed shape, morphing, sparkling. One moment, it was a metal spike, the next…

A Hanshin Tigers baseball cap. I picked it up, and under the bill, there was just one identifying mark. A set of initials in Roman characters. _MA_.

“Be seeing you.”

I turned around, and she was gone, her laughter the only thing that could be heard. Asakura Ryōko—a psychopath, an entity of some power. I don’t even know where to begin. All I could do was look to my right, where the spike had come from. Something just as powerful must’ve stopped her. Something just as interesting—or as frightening.

I didn’t get a clear look, but I saw enough. In the gate to the next section over, a girl with pale hair walked away, tucking a green hardcover under her arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a personal note, I lost my aunt in a car accident on my birthday this year. My other aunt, who was in the car with her, spent several weeks in intensive care before being released for physical therapy. She can walk on her own now, but she still needs assistance climbing stairs. The drunk driver of the SUV wasn’t wearing a seatbelt and was thrown from her vehicle. She spent some time in ICU as well.
> 
> Naoko Takeuchi is the author of _Sailor Moon_.
> 
>  _Kabuki_ is a traditional form of Japanese theater.
> 
> Shiki Masaoka was a turn-of-the-century Japanese poet, author, and journalist. _Tanka_ is a form of poetry, similar to haiku in that is has a strict moraic structure, following a 5-7-5-7-7 pattern of _morae_. In Japanese, a basic unit of phonetic structure is the mora, which may or may not be entirely equivalent to a syllable. In particular, a long vowel is usually considered a mora unto itself, even though in English such are considered part of a single syllable.
> 
>  _Kōshien_ refers to both the stadium (Hanshin Kōshien Stadium) and the two high school baseball tournaments that take place there, one in the spring and the other in the summer. Unlike baseball in the US, teams in Nippon Professional Baseball are often named for their owners. The Hanshin Tigers are named for Hanshin Electric Railway Company. _Hanshin_ itself is a portmanteau of Kōbe and Ōsaka when read with Chinese character readings. The Yomiuri Giants are based in Tōkyō and named for a newspaper and television conglomerate. 


	5. The Ride Home

“Yuki!”

My voice rang out clearly, for in the aftermath of Asakura’s attack, the stadium was quiet—a lot quieter than fifty thousand people ever should be. Maybe it was the shock of what’d happened. I doubt most people could even start to understand what Asakura had done. Hell, _I_ didn’t understand what that show of lights meant or how she made the people float out of their seats. Was she something like me?

My gut clenched. Just the possibility of being anything like _her_ should make anyone sick. I put the thought out of my mind. It was best not to think of that girl—or whatever she was. Think of someone else. Someone else stopped Asakura. Someone else used Mikuru-chan’s cap to do it. I knew that well; I held the hat in my hands.

And I knew who I’d seen walking away on the next aisle.

“Yuki, stop!”

She must’ve heard me. It was too quiet. She couldn’t have missed it. Why won’t you answer me, Yuki?

I started to go after her, back to the concession alley, but there was a scream, a commotion. The aisles started to flood with people, scampering to leave their seats. It was like, all of a sudden, the fans woke from their stupor, and I wasn’t halfway up the section stair before I was surrounded, bumped, and jostled from every direction. What could I do to change that? “Hey, everyone, stop!” I could yell. “You have to let me through, so I can find out why this cute little bookworm girl was on the wrong side of the stadium when this other invisible girl was speared in the shoulder, okay?” I may be commanding as a brigade chief, but getting a few hundred people to listen to you is a different matter!

At least, if you don’t have powers. I could picture Asakura grinning with the idea—that if I did something subtle, something no one would notice, all these people might stop and listen and get out of the way. I’ll be honest: that smile of hers scares the shit out of me. I don’t want to give her what she wants, but I can’t stand by and be powerless, either. I can’t just listen to Mori-san. I stood around, forcing myself to do nothing. I shouldn’t have hesitated.

I know all that because I saw what made the spectators run from their seats. Most of them were unhurt, it looked like. They’d floated out of their seats far too slowly to be in danger. I imagine you could’ve held yourself down and be fine—if you had something to hold on to. If you were unlucky enough to be on the field or in an aisle, there are no handrails or anything like that, not at Kōshien…

That’s why I should’ve done things differently. I was afraid of myself. I didn’t want to give in to her, but I ended up doing just that. I didn’t give her what she wanted most, but she got the next best thing.

In the next aisle over, some people had stopped, forming a circle and kneeling on the concrete steps. I couldn’t see what they were crowding around, but I could guess. I was torn over it. One part of me hoped those passers-by could help that person and bring him back. That way, the paramedics, whenever they got here, would have a fighting chance to save him.

But the other part of me prayed he’d gone quickly, so Asakura would’ve missed the light in his eyes going out.

  


They stopped the game after the incident, leaving it unfinished in the bottom of the seventh. All around the outside of the stadium, blue and red lights flashed. Police officers gathered at each gate and stair, ushering those who could walk to safety. Paramedics pushed their way through the crowd and carried out those who couldn’t. Most people made a beeline for the station, but I cut across and around the stadium’s perimeter. Yuki should still have been around there somewhere. Kyon and the others—they’d wait for me. I tucked Mikuru-chan’s hat under my arm and started dialing my phone.

“Haruhi?”

A siren blared as an ambulance motored off. I covered one ear with my hand and pressed the phone to the other. “Kyon?” I began. “Can you hear me? Is everyone all right?”

“We’re fine; everyone’s fine. What happened? Where did you run off to?”

I winced. Just what should I say? That I’d found an invisible girl in the toilet and chased after her? Okay, maybe that’s a little more believable ever since I started doing impossible things myself, but then I’d have to explain it all—why Asakura was trying to manipulate me, why I didn’t act to save everyone sooner. Because I was stubborn, because I was scared, I made someone else do it for me.

Someone like Yuki. That’s what I wanted to know. I wanted to know about Yuki.

“Hey,” said Kyon. “Are you still there?”

“Is Yuki with you?” I asked.

“Nagato? Yeah, she’s here.”

“When did she get back?”

“Just now? Look, we’re outside by stair twenty-two. Tsuruya-san is getting a car for us since the bus’s bound to be packed.”

“Then thank Tsuruya-san for me. Tell her we’ll do ten thousand hours of service for her in return!”

“ ‘Ten thousand’?” he cried. “And what kind of service?”

“But more importantly,” I said, “don’t let Yuki out of your sight. That’s an order! You understand?”

“What’s all this about?”

“And Kyon, I expect if you so much as skinned your elbow from what happened today, you would tell me. A good brigade member doesn’t hide any injuries from the chief. You’re not hurt at all, are you?”

“No.”

“Not even a scratch?”

“I was worried about you, too, Haruhi.”

My ears went a little warm. Kyon, I’m glad you can’t see me right now.

“I’m really all right. We all are.”

I let out a breath, relieved. If any of us in the brigade were hurt, it’d be worse. I know that’s horrible to say out loud or write in black and white, but it’s true, isn’t it? No one means as much to you as your family and friends. I’ve always had family, of course, but for a long time, I thought anyone I met at school or in clubs—anyone I could possibly make friends with—wouldn’t be interesting, wouldn’t be worth knowing.

That’s all changed in the last year. My friends were at this baseball game with me. They don’t have to be time-travelers, aliens, espers, or sliders to be interesting. Mikuru-chan is adorable. Koizumi-kun’s wise and agreeable. Tsuruya-san is like another burst of energy whenever she’s around. And yes, as much as I nag on him, Kyon is Kyon—my dose of reality, of honesty that no one else can give.

That just leaves Yuki, really, and if she _is_ the person I saw walking away from me as Asakura disappeared—no, there’s no _if_ about it, I know she is—then there’s the Yuki I know…

And there’s someone else—or some _thing_ else—too.

I stayed on the line with Kyon until I caught up to him and the others at our entry gate. The weather had turned a bit cool for a summer evening; I spotted Mikuru-chan with a blanket draped over her shoulders, the one we’d brought to protect from the sun. Even though Kyon was on the phone with me and Koizumi-kun was looking over the crowd, too, it was Tsuruya-san who spotted me first.

“Yo, Haru-nyan, you’re okay? That’s a big relief after all this trouble. I feel like it’s my fault, getting all of you involved in this.”

Like you could’ve guessed a psychotic alien would attack today? Not a chance. I told Tsuruya-san we’d be glad to tag along with her, anytime, as long as she’d have us. We still had a summer retreat planned, didn’t we?

“That’s the spirit!” she cried. “Koizumi-kun’s got a dastardly plot in store, right?”

He laughed politely. “I can’t say all the details have been outlined yet, unfortunately…”

“But surely you have a victim picked out, don’t you? If you don’t, I’ll volunteer! My aunt owns a horror shop, you know. I can really get into it with the makeup, don’t you know?”

Tsuruya-san was so unabashedly enthusiastic, despite what happened, that I had to wonder if she wasn’t doing it on purpose—trying to get our spirits up, even if it seemed like too much. Still, just imagine her running around with pale green makeup, her arms stiff and straight out in front of her and spray-painted bolts sticking out of her neck. She’d have a blast doing that, I’m sure, and so would we.

That day, though, it wasn’t a murder mystery that occupied my mind. As we waited for Tsuruya-san’s car to arrive, I watched the quietest member of our group. Yuki had parked herself beside Koizumi-kun like a statue, reading from her hardcover like nothing had happened, but that oblivious act wouldn’t hide any secret from me. It wasn’t just about my curiosity, either. Yuki saved us from Asakura once, but if that psycho bitch came back again…

I shivered. Just the thought gave me chills. I looked back at Yuki, but she was totally calm and indifferent. How could she sit there and read while the stadium was still emptying, while Asakura could be hiding in any group of people, totally invisible, waiting to strike at—

“Haruhi?”

I jolted. Kyon, don’t sneak up on me like that!

“If you’re watching Nagato, does that mean I still have to?”

I twitched a bit, taking a breath. I couldn’t be looking over my shoulder for that girl. I just had to trust she’d gone and that the Yuki in front of us, whoever she was, could be counted on—at least, as long as Kyon saw nothing to tell me otherwise. “You didn’t take your eye off her, did you?” I asked him. “If you did, then you disregarded my orders. That would be wanton dereliction of duty, you know!”

“That armband says ‘Brigade Chief,’ not ‘Minister of Defense.’ ”

Yuki’s eye wandered from the pages of the green hardcover. Was she suspicious? Was she watching us? That’s bad; we’d only spook her, talking like this so everyone could see. I pulled Kyon aside.

“Where are we—”

“Shh!” I hushed him, peering around to observe Yuki from a distance. She was buried in her book, but could she be listening instead? Could she have some super hearing power? Well, if she did, she’d already know I’d spotted her. She hadn’t done anything about it. Either she wasn’t going to, even if I told Kyon…

Or I’d be ready, just in case—more ready than I had been with Asakura. As impossible as it is to imagine anything like that coming from Yuki…

Well, that’s why someone needs to know.

“Kyon,” I began, “you’re going to have a hard time believing this, but just listen, okay? I’m not making this up. When I went to the toilet, after that woman fell, someone was waiting for me. It was—”

“Asakura.”

Yeah, it was Asa—wait, you’re not supposed to know that yet! I didn’t tell you!

“It’s all right,” he said. “Nagato told me everything.”

Yuki told him everything. Yuki, who wouldn’t stop for me or even meet my eyes, told Kyon exactly what happened? Why would she do that? Wouldn’t it be a shock for him, for everyone, to see Yuki running off with Mikuru-chan’s hat? With no explanation for why, and then all that…

Unless Kyon knew what Yuki was all along.

“Haruhi, look at me,” he said. “Take a minute. Take a breath.”

“What is she?” I whispered. “A superhuman? Genetically altered? Is that what Asakura is, too? That light—they’re sliders, aren’t they? They took us to another dimension!”

“They’re not sliders; they’re aliens.”

An alien. Yuki’s an alien. She’s some sort of _thing_ , a creature bottled into human form. Gods, if I hadn’t seen that pointed metal spear sticking through Asakura’s shoulder, I don’t think I’d believe it now.

But what’s more amazing than all that is the person who’s telling me this. Kyon, of all people, would be the last person I’d ever expect to have a secret life with aliens. How can this be true, Kyon? How do you know?

I asked him, and his brow furrowed. He checked over his shoulder, at Yuki and the others. Mikuru-chan and Tsuruya-san were talking. Yuki was reading her book. Koizumi-kun had a relaxed expression, standing between the three of them. At last, with a heavy breath, Kyon faced me again.

“Haruhi,” he said, “what do you remember about Tanabata four years ago?”

I shivered. That Tanabata…

You’d be better off asking me what I don’t remember, Kyon. It was a muggy night. The skies were clear. All the preparations I’d made in advance. I’d gone to one of the teachers during lunch, asking about a math problem, and swiped the gate key from his neck chain. After that, I’d headed to the athletic storeroom, moving what I needed—a line marker, a cart, and some lime—to the back, where no one would look. That’s because if I’d tried to steal a key from my gym teacher and got caught, I’d be in trouble. He used to do pro wrestling, you know, and he made it clear that any lack of discipline on our part would be punished with a demonstration of his old moves. I always thought that was pretty fishy, probably illegal even, but since no one else had been crazy enough to find out, I didn’t want to be first.

Ever since I’d had that weird dream the night before, I’d started drawing up the message I wanted to send. If there were aliens out there, watching us, it could easily take them dozens or hundreds of years to see my drawing and send a response. They might not even realize it’s there until well after the light from Earth that night had passed them by. At any rate, I figured it had to be done right the first time. Radio signals and skyscrapers only showed them our technology, our knowledge. Only a few people were actually trying to get messages to the stars, and who better to aim that message to on the seventh day of the seventh month than the weaver princess and her cow-herding lover in the sky?

In hindsight, I think my message was received, just not by whom I expected to get it. I was fully prepared to draw it all myself, to make corrections as I stepped back and gained perspective. If I had to, I’d take all night to get it perfect, but instead, I had help. There was a stranger at the gate that evening, carrying his sister on his back. That’s the only thing I don’t remember as clearly as I’d like. In the moonlight, I never saw his face that well, but we talked for some time. He wasn’t like normal people. He saw no reason aliens, time-travelers, and espers shouldn’t be everywhere. He was from North High, and he said there were people there who sent messages to the stars, too.

After that night, I thought that, if I went by North High from time to time, I might see him. Even if I wasn’t sure if his face, I should recognize him, right? By the way he walked? By who he hung out with and how he acted?

I never found him, though. Maybe if I’d known more about him, I could’ve, but I didn’t. I just knew he had an older sister, that he went to North High, and that, on that night, he went by an alias—a pathetically obvious one at that. It was a name that shouldn’t have meant anything.

“You went to East Middle School to draw lines on the ground, didn’t you?”

I blinked. Was that guy talking to me, calling back from the past?

No, no, we were still on that street corner, surrounded by thousands of anxious souls. And it wasn’t that guy from the past whispering to me. It was Kyon.

“A lot of people know that,” I answered him. “It’s not a secret.”

“But what no one knows, what you didn’t tell a soul, is that someone helped you,” said Kyon. “You found him, a North High student, and you pressed him into drawing that diagram for you while you watched. Am I right, Haruhi? You remember like it was yesterday, don’t you? How he called out, after you were finished, and asked you to never forget his name…”

And I didn’t! I couldn’t! I searched all over for him, yet nothing came of it. I dreamed of the day he’d find me and ask if I remembered that summer night.

But now it’s you who’s telling me this, Kyon? How can this be? Did he tell you? No, why would he? That night was so special to me—no, no, he couldn’t possibly know that, either. But if he didn’t tell you, then the only way you could know…

No way. That doesn’t make sense! We’re in the same year. If you’d been in high school then, you should’ve been gone before I ever came to North High. How can you tell me I’ve seen your face day in and day out for over a year now and never thought…?

Is this why I felt you were familiar? Is this why I thought I knew you but couldn’t place how or where?

“Haruhi,” he whispered, “do you need me to say that name?”

No—I mean, yes—I mean—

I don’t know.

My heart was racing. I stared at him, studying his face. Those were details I should’ve known too well by then—the color of his eyes, the way his hair fell around his ears. They _were_ like that person’s features…weren’t they? If I could remember more clearly…

I guess you need to tell me, then. I need to hear it to be absolutely sure. Tell me the name you used that night.

Tell me your name is John…

“And kiss her!”

Kyon and I sprang apart, my heart beating almost out of my chest. What on Earth are you talking about, Tsuruya-san?!

“What’s this?” She tilted her head innocently. “I thought sure Kyon-kun and Haru-nyan were having a love-love moment. Was I wrongs?”

  


As it turned out, Tsuruya-san had good reasons for interrupting us. The police had set up a perimeter around the stadium, and no private vehicles were permitted to enter. We walked two blocks to meet her father’s personal car—a jet black stretch limousine.

“If you and Kyon-kun want some privacy, that can be arranged too,” she whispered to me as we walked. “You know I’m Mikuru’s friend, but the girl doesn’t want to make a move. That’s not like you, though, Haru-nyan. If we gave you two some time, you’d be bold, right? Right?”

Kyon and I aren’t like that, Tsuruya-san! I mean, it’s not like I wouldn’t consider it, but I don’t know if he—I mean, that’s not what we were talking about!

Besides, you may know him as Kyon, but he’s John Smith, too. At least, I can only assume so—unless he’s John Smith pretending to be some guy called Kyon, having waited, ticking off the days until the right time…

Tsuruya-san’s car sped away from the stadium, and there were more questions burning in my mind than there are protons in this universe. I couldn’t stand it—sitting there quietly with Kyon across from me, just as silent while the others were chatting away. We were interrupted, after all. Kyon didn’t really say anything. Whatever I thought that meant could turn out to be wrong. If I couldn’t hear him say it plainly, I’d have to make sure some other way.

I’d have to see it in black and white.

I opened my phone and started pounding at the keypad. John Smith is my secret, after all. I wasn’t about to blurt it out for everyone to hear.

My question was simple. Either he’d understand it, or he wouldn’t. I hit _send_ , and his phone vibrated in his pocket. He flipped it open, scratching his temple, and looked up. I don’t know if he was surprised or uncertain or what. Maybe it was a little weird for me to press the issue even while we were surrounded by Tsuruya-san and the rest of the brigade. I’d waited four years to find that person, right? What’s another minute, another day?

Screw that. He’s sitting in front of me, and there’s no reason to wait any longer when all I have to do is ask an easy question and hope he answers it. Kyon, if you’re who I think you are, you know the answer right away.

“What is your name?”

He started thumbing in his response, one keypress at a time. He looked up from time to time, acting like he was intimately involved in Tsuruya-san’s story about how her ancestors survived the Great Genroku Earthquake. It didn’t take him long to answer, though, and in the dim light of the limousine, I covered my phone to keep the glow from disturbing anyone else. In no time, the answer came to me—in Roman characters so I’d be absolutely sure.

“JOHN SMITH.”

That’s what came up on my phone’s screen, and I think I about jumped out of my seat, banging my head on the roof of the limo.

“Suzumiya-san? Are you all right?”

That was Mikuru-chan, who blinked curiously at me like she wasn’t sure how I hadn’t put a hole through the roof doing all that. Really, though, it stung, but I was fine. They should have a sunroof or something. Don’t they have sunroofs on these things?

“It is unfortunate; I agree,” said Koizumi-kun. “The use of sunroofs is substantially reduced at night. I think I read a study to that effect. Perhaps, if there were a way to make the sun’s rays visible even after dark. It’s conceivable a set of reflective Niven rings would do the trick.”

“Then it wouldn’t be dark at night,” said Kyon. “You’d do all that to make it so you can use a sunroof after dusk?”

Koizumi-kun made a face at that, like he’d been caught off-guard. He waved it off as a momentary lapse, but I didn’t mind it. He’d actually been really helpful to me. He proved to me that Kyon was still Kyon, even if he was John Smith, too. If he saw something that didn’t make sense, he wouldn’t hesitate to speak up about it.

But how did he get to be John Smith in the first place?

I got to thumb-typing on my phone again as the conversation switched to convertibles and how Mikuru-chan had never stuck her head out a car window and gotten her hair ruffled or anything like that. While Tsuruya-san tried to convince her to do it then and there, I sent my next message.

“So you’re a time-traveler,” I wrote.

Kyon got the mail and instantly shook his head. So you’re not a time-traveler?

Then he blinked, frowned, and reconsidered. “I’ve traveled through time, but I needed help to do it.”

If I’d had the time or the patience, I’d have mailed him back that he shouldn’t send messages that demand obvious responses, but that would’ve taken another mail and gotten us too far down the wrong path. I ignored it, sending back the ‘obvious’ response: “From who?”

He looked to the open window.

“Tsuruya-san!” Mikuru-chan was being dangled halfway out that open window, panting and making an _Eee!_ noise as she breathed. “Tsuruya-san, I can’t feel my face!”

“Don’t worry; dogs do it all the time,” said our host. “Here, Koizumi-kun, why don’t you give me a hand holding her up? There’s plenty of room to grab on!”

Koizumi-kun’s eyes widened, and he waved her off. “I’m afraid I must politely decline…”

As Mikuru-chan finally begged Tsuruya-san to let her back in all the way, Kyon’s eyes met mine. He looked to the window and back again, hitting the point home. The time-traveler—she had to be…

I shut my phone. “No way,” I mouthed to him.

He nodded repeatedly.

Mikuru-chan’s a time-traveler? This mousey girl beside me?

Kyon caught my baffled expression and started typing again. “John Smith’s older sister.”

The sleepy narcoleptic girl? That’s right, she could’ve been there. Yuki’s an alien. Mikuru-chan’s a time-traveler. What could be next? Tsuruya-san and Koizumi-kun? Are they sliders, then?

When I asked him that, Kyon made a face. What’s that supposed to mean? There are no sliders anywhere? He didn’t say, of course. His answer was much simpler.

“She’s normal, as far as any of us know.”

Well, judging by the scene at the window next to me here, that’s true only for loose definition of _normal_ …

“He’s an esper.”

An esper? So he could be reading our thoughts right now?

“He wasn’t given that kind of power,” Kyon sent back.

And who gave him what powers he does have, then?

Kyon closed his phone and looked straight at me. The meaning was clear as day.

I did.

I put my phone away. I looked through the tinted windows, trying to keep my eyes on the outside, on what was moving. I know that’s supposed to work for motion sickness, but we were hardly driving fast enough for anything like that. It’s not every day you find out your friends have these amazing secret lives they never could tell you about. Just sitting there, looking out the window and listening to them talk, I wanted to jump in and stop everything. How far in the future are you from, Mikuru-chan? What’s your home planet like, Yuki? What kind of special powers do you have, Koizumi-kun? That’d only scratch the surface, too, but with Tsuruya-san there, it was like we were all just ordinary high-school students on our way back home. You’d never know the difference just by looking at us.

I felt exhausted. Between Asakura and finding all this out from Kyon Smith here, I think the excitement finally caught up to me. I ran through in my head a bunch of other things I wanted to know: when Kyon went back in time to meet me, why he did it, how Mikuru-chan helped, why I would’ve given Koizumi-kun powers, what the relationship between Yuki and Asakura was, and more, but my thoughts started drifting. The street lights passed us by at even intervals, rhythmic and hypnotic…

  


Tsuruya-san’s driver dropped off Mikuru-chan at her complex first, then Koizumi-kun, then Yuki. When I asked Tsuruya-san how that could be—we’d gone around Kyon’s and my houses to do just that—she winked, claiming it was a navigational error, an honest mistake.

As we pulled up to Kyon’s house, he was indifferent about it. “My parents and sister are out of town for the weekend. It’s not like they’re waiting for me to come back and tell them I’m alive. Good night, Tsuruya-san, Haruhi.”

Good night? We can’t stop right now; talking over mail messages and simple gestures isn’t enough!

I jumped out of the car, ignoring Tsuruya-san’s snickering. “Are you sure I can’t take you any further?” she asked coyly.

“I’ll be fine,” I called back.

Kyon gawked at me, eyes wide. Tsuruya-san’s limo sped away, but his gaze never wavered.

“What’s this about?” he asked.

You know what this is about. You’ve been holding out on me, having these adventures with aliens and time-travelers. How interesting the tales of John Smith must be. I bet you could fill ten or twelve books with them, right?

“Something like that,” he said. “Why? You want me to start from the beginning?”

I shook my head. “The beginning isn’t usually the best part, is it? I want to hear all about it, of course—every last detail, if you’ll let me.”

“That’s kind of the idea.”

“But today,” I said, “if you had only one story to tell me, what would it be? The best adventure John Smith ever had—tell me about it.”

He smiled to himself, ever-so-slightly, and motioned for me to follow. We walked the path to his door together, and with a simple turn of a key, he undid the lock.

“ ‘John Smith’s most special adventure,’ huh? Where to begin…?”

He flipped on a light, and we kicked off our shoes, but Kyon didn’t bother with getting an extra pair of slippers from the closet. Instead, he undid the top button on his shirt.

“John Smith’s powers don’t just extend to space and time,” he said. “He has the ability to explore a girl’s dreams.”

There was a tingling on the back of my neck.

“He was curious about a girl he’d met some years before, and he found her imagination as expansive and unending as he’d ever conceived of.”

I stepped forward, watching him, studying him. Kyon’s always been a little guarded. You won’t catch him cackling or with a big grin, but he smiles from time to time, and it’s not forced or put-on. He means it.

Even so, I’m not perfect at reading people. I had to ask, just to be sure. “You thought that was an exciting dream?” I asked.

“Absolutely. There were white giants taller than a skyscraper, parading all about. It was impressive, seeing a world so meticulous in detail, so close to reality, yet imbued with the dreamer’s signature touch…”

Oh gods, who _is_ this person? Where’s he been hiding, this guy who serenades a girl with romantic tales of his adventures? This is too much, Kyon; I just found out you were John Smith today! This poetic reverence in your voice, the look in your eyes—I don’t know how much longer I can hold back against those.

Or if I even want to.

“Do I need to ask permission, Brigade Chief?” he whispered.

Permission? Why should you ask permission?

“You might think it strange for a guy who’s traveled through time to visit a girl when she was thirteen and befriend her three years later.”

I’m in no mood to worry about such things right now, Kyon; this is what I’ve wanted for so long—to share something awe-inspiring with you and see the wonder in your eyes, except it’s not what I thought it would be. Today, it’s you who’s shown me something amazing, and I don’t want to forget because it excites me. It’s exhilarating, this sensation, this feeling. Every square centimeter of my skin is tingling. If you touch me with even the tip of your finger, I don’t know what’ll happen. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand.

“No qualms?” he asked. “Then this should make things a little better.” He lifted the ball cap from my head, dropping it lightly to the ground.

“You know,” I said, “I do have a hair-band, if you think we’ll need it.”

He smiled to himself. “No, no. The person in front of me is just fine.” He leaned in. His breath tickled my lips. His fingers brushed the back of my arm, my elbow. I closed my eyes, and—

HONK-HONK!

And while tires screeched outside the window, I hit my head on the roof of the limo for the second time that night. I need to train myself not to do that—to jump from surprise or excitement in a motor vehicle. It _hurts_.

“Let me guess,” said Kyon. “You got excited about something again?”

That’s, um, nothing I want to describe in front of four other people. I mean, not unless you’re into that sort of thing, but—

I blinked. The limo was idling. The cabin was quiet. Tsuruya-san and the others had disappeared. “Where are we?” I asked.

“Kitaguchi Station. At the very least, I had to come back and get my bike.”

Bah, of course, I’d forgotten all about that. Silly dreams. They can be so out of touch with reality. It’s not like it’s easy to realize you’re in a dream, but I should’ve known something wasn’t right. This guy in front of me: he goes all mushy when he looks at Mikuru-chan. I already misread him once, too. I shouldn’t forget that. This is why feelings of love and attraciton are so infectious and damaging, though. They make you look for hints and signs that aren’t really there. That’s fine when you’re looking for paranormal happenings. It’s not when the person you’re scrutinizing is right in front of you.

I want to focus on what’s real. John Smith’s real. Kyon’s real. The others in the brigade—Koizumi-kun, Mikuru-chan, and Yuki—they’re real. Their identities are real.

Where did they go?

When I asked Kyon that, he pointed outside. Through the window, Tsuruya-san was keeping the rest of the brigade entertained with stories.

“I asked her to give us a minute,” said Kyon. “She was all too happy to oblige.”

“So you were watching me sleep?” I asked.

He looked away.

“You didn’t draw on my face, did you?”

He snorted. “We’ve had this conversation before, Haruhi. No, I just figured the brigade chief hadn’t yet given her members permission to adjourn—that if she still had business with them…”

Business with the brigade, huh? I did have some things I wanted to say. There’s been a lot to take in, and maybe it wouldn’t be a crime to rest and sleep, to come back tomorrow with fresh eyes and a clear head.

But that’s not how Suzumiya Haruhi does things. Tsuruya-san was right; there’s no time like the present. I don’t want to go another second without knowing all of you. I don’t want to go another minute before I meet everyone again.

With a deep breath, I stepped out of the limousine and shielding my eyes to adapt to the light.

And there they were—my friends, yet I felt like I’d only begun to know them. Yuki closed her book, looking back at me. Koizumi-kun gave a small nod of respect. Mikuru-chan put her hands together in front of her, standing tall and proper.

“Ah, she’s awake!” cried Tsuruya-san, rushing over to peer at me. “Did you have good dreams, Haru-nyan?”

I did, but it wasn’t reality, and reality is what I want to find today. “Tsuruya-san,” I said, “thanks for inviting us, even though things turned out badly. I think we’ll be all right from here.”

“Oh, I see what’s doing—private SOS Brigade business, right? Okies. Mikuru, call me!”

As Kyon ambled up behind me, Tsuruya-san climbed back into the limo and winked at us. The door shut, and she took off, the limousine disappearing into the night. There we were—the SOS Brigade—yet I felt like I should introduce myself to them. We weren’t the same group that’d met that afternoon. I was sure of that.

“Guys,” I said to them, “Kyon’s told me some things, but I guess there’s a lot left to talk about. I know it’s been a long day, but…”

“Perhaps we could sit down at the café?” Koizumi-kun suggested, looking a bit too amused with himself. “I think that would be an appropriate venue to revisit past events.”

“So Kyon-kun told Suzumiya-san about us after all?” Mikuru-chan wrung her hands. “But then this is really unknown territory to me. What might happen now is highly classified information; I don’t know if I’m supposed to be the one dealing with things like this…”

“Whether we’re the ones meant to be here or not, the task falls to us,” said Kyon. “Shall we go?”

Yeah. Let’s go together. I want to have tea with a time-traveler. I want to have a conversation with an esper entirely in my mind. I want to hear alien languages and see their bizarre forms. I’ve probably done at least a couple of these things already, not even knowing it, and that’s what excites me. That’s what’s amazing. Looking in a large glass window from the storefront beside us, I glimpsed our reflections. We walked together, a parade of the most interesting people on this planet, whether they were exotic creatures or not. That’s undeniably cool, except…

“Haruhi?” Kyon pressed his lips together, stifling a laugh. “What’s the problem?”

The problem was the black marker ink on my nose and forehead. “Kyon,” I said, “you really _did_ draw on my face!”

  


It took ten minutes for me to rub off all the marker. Kyon laid the blame squarely on Tsuruya-san, insisting that no one else had anything to do with it, but Yuki pointed out that Mikuru-chan joined in as well. It was Koizumi-kun who said the most interesting thing, though. When I came back from the toilet, finding our drinks at the table, I realized I must’ve taken longer than I’d thought. That’s when he said it:

“As a matter of fact, I’m surprised you used paper and water to do the job instead of wiping the ink away with your powers. Perhaps it’s a small act, but I think it an act providing marvelous insight. My colleagues would be most interested to hear of this.”

Colleagues, Koizumi-kun?

“If they’re anything like this guy,” Kyon began, “then they’re the kind of people who, if Professor Freud told them that sometimes a cake really _is_ a cake, they might not believe it on the first go.”

“Ah, but Professor Freud may never have made that statement,” Koizumi-kun asserted. “Hence, I find it curious you would deflect the possibility of insight into Suzumiya-san’s mind. Perhaps you feel you already understand her quite well?”

Kyon sighed, looking at me. “You see what I’ve had to deal with?”

I didn’t quite understand then, but I picked up a few things over the course of that night. I learned. I learned that Koizumi-kun fancied himself a philosopher of sorts, speculating that I was everything from a cosmic creature left to maintain this universe to God Himself, and it wasn’t Kyon who disagreed with him—at least, he wasn’t the one most vehement in doing so.

“Why would Suzumiya-san put herself here if she created this world?” asked Mikuru-chan. “Why make a universe with all the details and history you remember, out of all the possibilities?” She shook her head confidently. “In the future, we find that idea very implausible. This world has always been here. Somehow, Suzumiya-san developed or was given her power, but there must be a well-defined time before that event.”

“A time you cannot reach,” Koizumi-kun pointed out, “and hence cannot be certain really exists.”

“But of course it—” Mikuru-chan stopped, looking at me nervously. “I mean, why should it not? You have to understand, based on the theory of classified information—I mean, um, take my word for it?”

Koizumi-kun wasn’t satisfied with that, though, and the two of them went back and forth for a time, with Yuki jumping in only when Kyon asked for her opinion to settle the debate.

There was one thing they all agreed with, though—or at least, they were too cautious to rule it out. I may not have created this world. Perhaps I couldn’t irrevocably change it in a way that would be felt ten or a hundred or a thousand years from now, but if I grew dissatisfied enough with it, if I wanted to escape to another realm, another place, it was possible. I could do that. Maybe the exact nature of that act wasn’t well-understood, but I’d done it before. Kyon knew it, too.

That was the day he used fairy tales to save the world. He wasn’t so crass about it as to say what he’d done, not in front of the others, but I understood. He kissed me to save the world, and whatever else he might’ve felt…

Well, I should be fair. That was just one incident out of many where the brigade did things to keep me from getting angry, to appease me, to keep this world exactly the way it was. Faced with the possibility, however remote, that it could be replaced with something utterly foreign and strange, I don’t know if I’d have done any differently. I can think up totally bizarre and alien universes—ones where space has only a forward and back, but time is like a plane, where future and past have a left and right, too. I don’t know what would’ve happened if I’d become so possessed with realizing that kind of idea. Maybe it’s best that none of us know.

But it’s weird and unsettling—to hear how your memories of being with people don’t really tell the whole truth. Over the course of that night, I heard so many stories. Those few days I spent at Kyon’s bedside last December, waiting for him to wake up? They didn’t happen. Traipsing around an empty mansion in a snowstorm? That did. We made a movie, and without even realizing it, I turned those colored contacts for Mikuru-chan into deadly laser beams and razor cutters. It made me feel like a bitch, honestly, knowing what I put everyone through.

“That only goes so far, Haruhi,” Kyon assured me. “You didn’t know, and we didn’t tell you.”

That’s right; you guys didn’t tell me because I gave you no reason to, no reason to think I was anything but a dangerous, selfish little girl. Even now, with what Asakura did, what Mori-san said to me, you guys just have to do this, not knowing if I’d take it well or badly or what.

“You’re a different person now,” said Kyon. “When we talked it over, trying to figure out how to tell you, we all agreed—compared to the girl we met at the beginning of last year, the Haruhi of today would understand better why we’ve done what we’ve done, why we’ve kept things to ourselves for so long.”

That’s what Kyon said, and the others clearly had followed his lead. Through every story and explanation I heard that night, Kyon was at the center of things. The others went to him for help when they needed it, and he relied on their powers, their expertise, to get through all the weird events that swirled around me. When he spoke, the others listened. They might explain or elaborat on what he said, but they never contradicted him. I was leader of the brigade, but Kyon was in charge of something very different—an alliance, I guess, of paranormal beings, all working to keep the world safe from something more powerful than all of them.

But that wasn’t why we’d gathered. Kyon’s purpose in telling me what I was and what I could do was to protect me from the Entity that was both Yuki and Asakura’s master; from Mori-san, who worked with Koizumi-kun but represented, in his words, “the element of our organization that believes the worst about Suzumiya-san and felt the only way to ensure the status quo was to frighten her into submission.”

When the café staff started wiping down the tables and the neon sign in front flickered out, Kyon finished the last of his cup and looked squarely at me. “Whatever those people try to do to you from now on, Haruhi, remember this: they can’t touch you. They can’t threaten you or intimidate you or anything else. You have the power to silence their words before they reach your ears. You have the power, as Mori-san said, to erase someone whose intentions are a danger to you or any of us in the brigade. This is the power we’ve been reluctant to give you—no, this is the power _I’ve_ been reluctant to give you, but now you have it. Use it sparingly. Use it wisely. Don’t be afraid, though.” He gestured to the others. “None of us would be here if we thought you couldn’t handle it.”

With that, we adjourned. The SOS Brigade would still meet like always. We five were spectacular people, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t hang out after school and plan the search for other mysteries in this world. In that, not much had changed. I knew that well when Kyon took out his wallet and started counting the bills need to pay.

“Kyon,” I said, “what are you doing?”

“It’s tradition, isn’t it?” He thumbed the bills between his fingers, squinting. “You know, this is what happened the first time. We were at that table over there, and I said, ‘Haruhi, you won’t believe this, but it’s the truth. Asahina-san’s a time-traveler, Koizumi an esper, Nagato an alien.’ ”

That’s right; I remember that day now, about a year ago. I stormed out because I thought Kyon was mocking me. I thought no one would say such things unless they meant to mock me because, well, it couldn’t be true. It wouldn’t be so easy.

How stubborn a girl can be when she thinks the world is so dull a place that nothing she wants will come true. I didn’t believe Kyon then. I didn’t even give him a chance to explain.

I took the check with our total for the evening and pushed Kyon’s money across the table, into his lap.

“What’s this?” he asked me.

It’s payment with interest, you might say. It’s my gratitude to you guys for being here, for being willing to explain and recount what’s happened—the bad along with the good.

I left a two-thousand-yen note on the table. “Guys,” I said, “thank you.”

  


When I made it home that night, my father welcomed me back, not knowing I’d even gone to Kōshien, but word of what’d happened was already on the news and the net.

“Sounds like something out of a science-fiction story,” said Father, reading the article on his laptop as he worked in the main room. “People floating out of their seats, strange lights—oh, here, look. There are even rumors about a girl walking away from the scene with a piece of metal sticking through her body. I think perhaps people have had too much to drink at these games.”

And only you’d still be working over your computer as it nears eleven o’clock on a Saturday night, Father. Your daughter was away all afternoon. Didn’t you consider taking Mother out to dinner?

“Oh, no no, she’s upstairs scribbling away at her notebook. In that way, your mother and I are very much alike. We embrace our passions at home. When I left her earlier, she was babbling away about some nine-tailed fox that offers naÏve little girls their greatest wishes in exchange for contracts or some such. I couldn’t follow it. If the demon grants you any wish when you make a pact with it, why not make a wish to change the system?”

That’s exactly what happens in the end, Father.

“And if the trend of things is the same these days, it probably takes all of a season of television for anyone to figure that out.” He shook his head. “This is why I stick to things that are eminently practical and logical.”

Are you arguing with people on the Internet about which text editor is better again?

He pulled the laptop lid toward him, shielding the screen from me. That was fine. We all have our weaknesses. Me, I’d hid that Tigers cap behind my back as soon as Father asked me about the game. I snuck up to my room tossed it aside, and it landed on my bed upside-down, revealing Mikuru-chan’s initials inside the brim. The ink had bled into the fabric, the borders broken and ill-defined. I think Mikuru-chan and I got our caps mixed up, maybe at the café. Clearly, being turned into a spear to stop Asakura hadn’t done this hat any favors, but it was useful, in its own way. It told me I had unfinished business with someone. Kyon showed faith in me, telling me about John Smith and everything else. He and the others, despite their reservations, let me know about myself. They didn’t want me to feel threatened by Mori-san or Asakura, and that’s enough for me.

But not for them. If not for Yuki saving the others from Asakura today…

On my desk was the hundred-yen coin. I took it in my hand. I felt the faces between my fingers—the contours of the metal, the reeded edge. It was proof of my powers’ existence. John Smith’s faith in me was that I could use those abilities wisely.

I won’t let you down, Kyon. And I won’t let dangerous people like Asakura or Mori-san threaten you, either. The message has to be sent—today, and not one day later. 

I closed my fist over the coin, and the room disappeared around me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are actually 10^80 protons in the known universe, or in words, roughly one hundred million billion billion billion billion billion billion billion billion protons.
> 
> The two-thousand-yen banknote is actually actually somewhat uncommon, as it was issued in the year 2000 to commemerate the G8 summit on the island of Okinawa. There are no two-, twenty-, or two-hundred-yen coins or bills.
> 
> The baseball game depicted here took place on June 24, 2011. Hanshin would go on to defeat Yomiuri 4-2. No instances of alien interfaces taking control of gravity within the stadium were reported. Perhaps Asakura has wiped our minds of it.
> 
> The saying “sometimes a cigar is just a cigar” is popularly misattributed to Sigmund Freud. The variation here, with “cake” used instead, originates from an episode of _Star Trek: The Next Generation_.
> 
> A Niven ring (or “ringworld”) is a construct that often appears in science fiction—one of the most recent depictions is in the first-person shooter series _Halo_. However, ringworlds and the related object, a Dyson sphere, were conceived as completely encircling a star, and hence are structures of almost unimaginable scale. Named for the structure from and author of _Ringworld_ , by Larry Niven.
> 
> My profound thanks to those other authors who’ve helped me correct and refine this story: Henry Cobb, Arakawa Seijio, and Brian Randall. The tale is yet unfinished, but without their contributions and feedback, the story would not be what it is today.


	6. The Evening Play

Before that week, I’d never cared much for the theater. I’d thought about going into acting or filmmaking—maybe in university—but the stage is a different matter entirely. It requires special techniques and conventions. All those rules for classic theater struck me as boring, to be honest. How can you be original or true to human emotions if you rigidly adhere to centuries-old dictates of how acting should be done? I mean, there are only a couple hundred plays in the _Nō_ repertoire. So little is written that’s new.

But that was before I went to the station Wednesday evening and found myself part of a performance. I didn’t know it, but my lines had already been planned out. My reactions and thoughts had been carefully rehearsed—just not by me. It was the woman I met there, Mori Sonō-san—she scripted them. When she met me at the station, she pretended it was too late in the day, so I’d press her into telling me what was on her mind. She knew, after what I’d done to Taniguchi, that I’d have no choice but to hear her out.

When the white walls of my bedroom faded, there was only a broad spot of light in the darkness. It cast the outlines of people in shadow—the shadows of their heads as they sat and faced the source. I sat with them, taking a seat by the aisle. The row was empty; no one would notice that I hadn’t come in the door, and that’s all I could’ve asked for. I didn’t want to attract attention, at least not then. I came to watch and understand someone. My enemy? My former friend? Both of those descriptions might be too strong. I guess the best way to put it is the simplest.

I came to watch a play.

On Wednesday night, I’d been too shaken from Mori-san’s tirade to do anything—to eat or work or think. It was only from exhaustion I found some measure of sleep, but in the days since, I’d become interested in who Mori-san was—how she grew so obsessed with me, why she would know these things about my powers when I didn’t even have a clue. Of course, I understand now. Kyon and Koizumi-kun told me very clearly at the café earlier that night: the thing that gave all espers their power defied earthly explanation. There was no way I could’ve uncovered it just by searching Mori-san’s name on the Internet and seeing what turned up. That’s exactly what I’d done, though, and I learned a thing or two about her. I learned about this theater in Ashiya that was experimenting in Western plays. I read about this actress of theirs who’d be the lead. A conniving, charismatic character, she’d have everyone around her convinced she was an angel when, in fact, she was nothing of the sort. She wore a plain white skirt and a white covering over her hair, but her top was as red as could be. It made it easy to pick her out among the other girls.

And her voice, though deepened to sound confident and sure, was unmistakable to me, too.

“I have been hurt, Mister Danforth,” she said. “I have seen my blood runnin’ out! I have been near to murdered every day because I done my duty pointing out the Devil’s people—and this is my reward?”

With her bold words, she weakened the resolve of all who’d doubt her. The judge she spoke to backed off, but Mori-san didn’t stop there.

“Let you beware, Mister Danforth,” she said. “Think you to be so mighty that the power of Hell may not turn your wits? Beware of it!” She clutched her elbows, shaking mightily. “There is…”

“What is it, Child?” asked the stern old judge.

“I—I know not. A wind—a cold wind has come.” She turned away from him, and her gaze settled on another. It was a woman too, a frightened, panicking girl who shook her head, paling by the second.

“Abby!” she cried.

“Your Honor, I freeze!” said a third girl.

“They’re pretending!” a man shouted.

“She is cold, your Honor,” said another, a man who offered Mori-san’s hand to the judge. “Touch her!”

The third girl from before, who shook like Mori-san did, stared down the increasingly distraught defendant. “Mary, do you send this shadow on me?”

More and more the girl “Mary” denied it, but Mori-san and her friend on stage insisted it was true. She was assertive when she needed to be. She was vulnerable when it helped her. She was a chameleon. She was an actress playing an even better one—no, that’s not right. Where the other actors bumbled from time to time, fumbling for lines or putting on muted reactions to acts that should’ve been big and blatant, Mori-san’s performance was perfect. When she called to her God with the utmost earnestness and sincerity, even as the man she accused called her a whore, I felt I understood her. She could do anything she wanted to. She had the ability. She had the skill. I knew that because I’d witnessed one of her performances before, and back then, she had me completely taken in. Her magnificence on stage begged a question, then:

Who are you, Mori Sonō?

It was a question I’d posed to Koizumi-kun earlier that night, one he responded to with careful consideration and aplomb. “Throughout these four years,” he said, “Mori-san has been entirely dedicated to the task of collapsing closed spaces and monitoring your mental state, yet while some of our number have always approved of proactive measures—constructing scenarios and murder mysteries to keep you entertained—Mori-san has often expressed her distaste for those methods. I remember well one meeting we held this winter, regarding the organ for the Literature Club. In response, she’d said, ‘One can burn incense before a sleeping giant whenever she stirs, but one should beware that one day, she _will_ awaken and snuff out the source of the smoke.’ ”

I’d frowned at that, but Kyon was outright annoyed with Koizumi-kun’s explanation. “Why would she go to Haruhi like she did, then? Why would she light a fire under the giant’s feet or whatever if she felt that way?”

Koizumi-kun’s brow furrowed, and he nodded apologetically to me. “I’ve wondered that myself. I cannot speak to her motives. It’s possible the other members of our Agency met without me while we stayed at the hospital, watching over Taniguchi-kun, but I consider that event rather unlikely.”

Then what do you think made Mori-san come to me?

He took a heavy breath, considering. “I can only conclude that Mori-san took this action with little help from the others. Indeed, she may have done it entirely on her own. I cannot apologize enough for the distress she caused you, Suzumiya-san. I know our methods may seem unsavory now, but what Mori-san did is another matter entirely.”

That may be, Koizumi-kun, but it doesn’t answer the question, and to be honest, watching Mori-san in this play didn’t, either. I wanted to understand her, to know who these people are that have been watching me, but I had to concede that true understanding might be impossible, even for someone like me.

At last, the curtain fell, and to the sporadic clapping of maybe ten other people, the performers gathered on stage and bowed. The lights came up, and I rose from my seat, giving my applause too but always watching Mori-san. I was close to the stage—closer than I’d realized, just a handful of rows back, but that was good. It meant that, when the actors retired to the dressing room, they had to walk past me. In an almost empty theater, they wouldn’t miss a high-school girl standing on her feet while the other members of the audience made for the exit. Mori-san surely wouldn’t miss me. She met my gaze and stopped dead in her tracks. Another actor bumped into her, halting the line. Her mouth hung open. She stared, turning a little pale like the other actress in the scene when I’d come in. I caught Mori-san by surprise, and that’s what I’d wanted. That way, she’d listen. She’d take my message like I’d taken hers. She wouldn’t forget.

After a moment’s hesitation, Mori-san regained her composure, faced forward, and disappeared through the dressing room door. I hoped I’d made my intentions clear. If she tried to sneak away, I’d have to track her down, and that’d be disappointing. That’d only tell me she was even less worth dealing with. So, I made my way through the lobby waited outside in the unseasonably cool night. The sidewalk was empty. It was late. I guess a ten-thirty show wasn’t that popular around here.

“My,” said a voice. “I think we always expected this day would come.”

Dressed in a white buttoned shirt and slacks was Arakawa-san, who looked upon me with a mix of wonder in his eyes and resignation on his face.

“But that doesn’t mean we were ever truly prepared for it,” he said, bowing. “Good evening, Suzumiya-sama.”

I held out my hands, trying to wave him off. “Arakawa-san,” I said, “you’re still acting like a butler.”

“But we are always your servants,” he said, “whether it be at some far-off locale or here, by your home. I imagine you’re aware of this by now, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Koizumi-kun told me everything.”

He nodded knowingly. “That was expected, too. I told Mori she should’ve been more delicate. Koizumi’s as loyal to you as he is to us.”

That was awkward—talking about Koizumi-kun like he had two masters he served. I tried to avoid the thought. “You weren’t in the play?” I asked.

“I tried my hand at directing,” he said. “Not to say there weren’t several roles I could’ve played, but I’m an old hand. The newcomers needed experience at something unfamiliar. They coped decently. That much I can say.”

“And Mori-san?”

He smiled. “I’ve not seen her in such form for at least a year. It was a joy to watch, truly. In that, I think we have you to thank.”

Me?

“We’ve all been keenly aware of how this experience—this ‘brigade’ you created—has given you an outlet. Our workload has been much reduced in recent months, and but for the scare earlier this week, we’d thought the day might come that we wouldn’t be needed at all.”

A scare—that must’ve been Taniguchi.

“Indeed. I’m sorry to say, but that incident gave all of us some loss of faith—”

The door to the theater opened. Arakawa-san saw who it was. I didn’t need to look.

“Hello, Suzumiya-sama.”

She was in jeans and a white blouse with short sleeves. Two hair bands gave her twin tails. She bowed solemnly, stoic and not smiling.

“Evening, Mori-san,” I said. “I saw part of your performance. I don’t know much about theater, but I thought it was pretty good.”

She bowed again. “You honor me with your praise, but we both know a play isn’t what brought you here.”

True enough. I had something to say, and I’d say it on my terms. “You lied to me three days ago. You said I erased Asakura, but I didn’t. You tried to intimidate me. You tried to frighten me, and it worked. I won’t pretend it didn’t, but I know who I am now. I know what I am now. I think I understand why you did it, but that doesn’t mean I’ll forget. I don’t understand completely how your ‘Agency’ or whatever works. If you’re that heavy-handed with me again, I _might_ overlook it. If you’re that heavy-handed with the brigade, I definitely won’t.”

“Of course,” said Arakawa-san. “Mori here overstepped. You have every right to be angry with her. Mori is very regretful over the incident. Isn’t that so, Mori?”

She shook her head. “I’m not.”

“Mori!”

“I won’t apologize for doing what I felt was right,” she said. “By every appearance, Suzumiya-sama was out of control. You knew it, Arakawa. Even Koizumi was hesitant to deny it.”

“So you took action on your own,” said Arakawa-san. “Against the consensus of the Agency!”

“The Agency was wrong!” she cried. “It’s wrong to do nothing when you think the world might come collapsing down around you. It’s wrong to be scared to act because you’re too afraid for your own life than the lives of others. It was a distasteful, ugly thing I did, but I would do it again.” She looked at me. “You heard from Koizumi, didn’t you? You know the consequences if your powers are used indiscriminately. You haven’t used them at all since then, have you?”

Not until I teleported myself here, but I let that go. There was a bigger problem with Mori-san’s argument. “If you were so convinced I had to stop myself, you could’ve told me the truth,” I said. “Why involve Asakura? Why involve Kyon when the truth has nothing to do with them?”

Mori-san stiffened. “It seemed…efficient,” she managed to get out, but even that felt forced. The self-righteous edge to her gaze had softened. She was looking inward, at herself more than me, and I have to admit, there was a little part of me that liked seeing her doubt, seeing a glimpse of confusion amid certainty.

Those thoughts gave me a chill.

“Well,” said Arakawa-san, stepping between us. “I must apologize for Mori, even if she won’t do so for herself. This week has been very stressful, and I’m sure attitudes will change with time.” He checked his watch. “I don’t mean to be inhospitable, but it’s best not to linger here late at night, and Mori and I still have duties to attend to. By your leave, Suzumiya-sama?”

“What duties?” I asked.

“If you like, you could come along,” said Mori-san. “It could be instructive.”

Arakawa-san paled. “Is that even possible?”

“I have a feeling Suzumiya-sama can make it possible.”

“Make what possible?” I demanded. “Where are you going?”

“We’re espers,” said Mori-san. “We defend the mind of one special person against her more indiscriminate urges. We maintain the stability of her thoughts and, in doing so, preserve the integrity of this world. Koizumi may have told you about it, but that’s no substitute for seeing it in person. You might learn something about yourself, too.”

I narrowed my eyes. Who are you, Mori-san? What are you trying to do? You wouldn’t apologize when given the chance to, when Arakawa-san all but begged you. If you hate me so much, why would you offer to show me around this phantom domain of yours? Why should I let you traipse around in what’s basically the deep recesses of my mind?

Why would you hesitate when I asked you a simple question?

These weren’t idle thoughts. I hoped to be fair to her, to not let my feelings from that night sour me. It wasn’t easy. The knots in my gut told me to get out of there and never lay eyes on her again, but I stood there, listening, hearing, thinking.

Really, who would be stupid enough to talk back to me when I’m saying, ‘Hey you, don’t threaten me, or you know what I can do’? Who would be stupid enough to defend themselves, to refuse to apologize, if they really believed I could turn her into a frog or a set of drinking glasses or even unmake her altogether?

Who would be strong enough to stand up to me, despite that risk?

“Well, Suzumiya-sama?” she began. “Are you ready to visit the closed space of your mind?”

  


It was an uneasy ride back into town. Arakawa-san assured me—repeatedly, even—that they had no ill intentions. Call it a human instinct, though. I didn’t feel wholly safe in the same car with that woman. She offered me the front seat, next to Arakawa-san as he drove, but I declined. I didn’t want her behind me. Maybe it was silly to be afraid, knowing I had power, but I wasn’t looking to use it. I wasn’t willing to bank on it in a pinch.

What would Mori-san do to me, you ask? I wasn’t really sure of that, either. It’s not like I expected her to pull a gun or anything like that, but I sensed something from her—a hint of resentment that undercut her outward respect and frankness. I asked both of them where we were going, what street or intersection, and Mori-san rattled it off without even a hitch. That put me at ease, knowing I could look outside and tell if she were lying, but it’s what she said after that I remember best.

“We’ve been there many times. Not all of us are content to trust only the knowledge you gave us. In their enthusiasm, our colleagues have expanded their own duties, and even those of us who didn’t choose that path are bound to help them. It is, you should know, all in your service.”

And you hate that, don’t you, Mori-san? I know a little about acting. I know some of the most powerful emotions a person can muster come from memories that are close to the heart. I read about a voice actor once—in trying to channel her emotions, she thought back to her grandmother’s passing, and she couldn’t stop the tears from falling even after the exercise had ended. Mori-san had told me one big lie when she beckoned me three nights before, but the rest of it was believable. The rest of it could be truth. Koizumi-kun didn’t know a lot about Mori-san’s personal life. I planted the seed of power in her mind, the knowledge of what she’d become and what she needed to do, and that could be what drove her to come to me, to plot that ruse of hers. She’d think it was fair—she’d crush my enthusiasm and hope because, in her mind, that’s what I’d already done to her.

You know something, though? That’s bullshit. I mean, if I really gave her all the knowledge she needed to be an esper, she’d know I didn’t have any idea I was doing it. Koizumi-kun knows that. They all know that. It was put into their heads that they had to do this, or else this world could disappear.

But that’s not what bothers you, is it, Mori-san? That’s not what bothers you most because it’s not what bothers me most, either.

Why you?

Why me?

Why are any of us involved in this?

I don’t know if I could find the answer to that—or, if I had the power after all, whether it’d be right to use it.

After about fifteen minutes in that black taxi, we stopped by an intersection with a market on the corner. The shops had long since closed, though. The neon signs were dim. The streets were empty, yet as we left the car, Mori-san and Arakawa-san waited at the crosswalk for the signal. “It’s better to wait,” Arakawa-san explained. “Even if you think no cars will come, it can be shocking to people if they happen to be watching us.”

What are you going to do—disappear halfway through the intersection?

The signal changed, and Arakawa-san offered his hand to me. “This may not be strictly necessary. I expect you could will yourself into this place if you wished. Ah, actually, we’re fairly certain you can.”

That’s right. I’d been to this place before, though I didn’t realize it. That night, over a year ago, I woke up flat on my back, in my uniform with Kyon laid out beside me. It was a bizarre night. You could tell just by looking at the sky.

We walked together—Arakawa-san and I. With Mori-san in the lead, we entered the intersection, and I looked up. The streetlights’ glow drowned out the stars, but there was a recognizable blackness behind the halogens’ hue. I wanted to keep looking that way, to see the transition as it happened, but as the fabric between worlds exposed itself, as the purple shadow world ripped its way through reality, my eyes shut themselves, lest I glimpse something no one should see.

But I knew what lay ahead. Like I said, I’d been there before.

When Kyon and the others told me I had the power not just to change things or erase people but to wipe away everything that’d ever been and make something anew, I was a bit skeptical at first. Just how could that be? It’d be like saying God is among humanity, looking to exercise His judgment and unleash the Twelve Tribal Horsemen of the Apocalypse or whatever that is. Why humans, of all the creatures in this universe? I know there are more out there. It doesn’t make sense.

But it didn’t make sense to them, either. All they could offer was a vague assumption—I’d grown so dissatisfied with the world that day that I wanted to get away from it, to start anew. As far as why I’d taken Kyon with me that day, Koizumi-kun had tried to put it delicately.

“We always assumed that you felt him here to be the person best able to usher in that world with you,” he’d said. “We thought that you trusted him more than the rest of us, that if you would choose one person to be with—ah, that is, how is it best said…?”

It was best left unsaid altogether. Kyon understood that. That’s why he looked so uncomfortable while Koizumi-kun was explaining.

And I?

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so…transparent. I’d always said love would be a distraction, that it’d take away from the brigade and the search for more important things. I remember that day, though. It was the day I realized I was a hypocrite.

It was the day I realized I’d fallen in love.

  


It was oppressively hot that day, hot enough that you’d think a leaf or a piece of paper might burst into flames just by being out in the sun. At least that would’ve been interesting, but nothing of the sort would happen, or so I thought. It was just after Asakura had left for “Canada,” and I’d been determined to find out where she’d gone. I know now I’d never have found her, but at the time, it seemed like something to latch on to and puzzle out. I’d dragged Kyon with me that day to Asakura’s apartment complex, but no one knew where she’d gone. There was no forwarding address or anything like that. It was all just a big dead end. I didn’t know where else to look or what to do.

But that guy—he kept following me. He asked if he could go home, like that was the most important thing. That made me stop in my tracks. I’d had a real hard time understanding him, you know. Ever since he started talking to me in class, asking me questions without really saying anything. He wasn’t trying to make a point or show me up. He was just…interested? No, not like that. He was curious. He wasn’t dogged or persistent about it like I was. If the mysteries of the universe stayed hidden from him, maybe he’d accept it, but that wouldn’t stop him from asking questions—like with my hair. I could’ve told him nothing about it, and that would’ve been fine, but I’d answered him. Then there wasn’t any mystery in it, so I cut most of it off. That told me something, though. He _was_ a curious person. That’s how I justified taking him into the brigade. You can’t teach curiosity, even if it doesn’t have the drive or persistence to back it up.

Because he was curious, I thought we could relate to each other. I told him why I did the things I did. I told him about the time my family took me to Kōshien and how that changed my views on people and the world. I thought maybe he’d say he felt the same, even though he couldn’t go about stirring things up the way I do. Or, instead, he’d say he absolutely didn’t understand; then we could part. But he wouldn’t say either. He just went, ‘I see,’ like it would answer everything. I went home after that. I understood even less. That time at the stadium—next to John Smith, that was my most precious memory. Why should I be telling this guy I’d just met not two months before something so personal? My parents had needled and needled me about it at the time, asking what happened, why I’d changed, yet I’d never gave them a clue.

Because I didn’t understand him, I tried to steer my mind away. If something amazing were to happen, I wouldn’t have to think about it. I wouldn’t be bored. I wouldn’t have to wonder why I was spilling my heart to him, one drop at a time.

It was hot that day, and I wanted to get a rise out of him. I asked him what he thought we should dress Mikuru-chan up as next—a girl with cat ears, a nurse, or maybe a queen. He thought about it for a second. He thought about it real hard with a dreamy expression. A dumb expression. I didn’t want to see that on his face, not for Mikuru-chan. It was annoying that there was nothing else to think about. I took out my frustrations in gym class, beating the next-closest runner at a sprint by five strides easily, but that didn’t help, either. I tried to justify it instead. Mikuru-chan’s pretty cute, after all. I was into her a little bit myself. Why should I expect anyone else not to be? That was part of the reason I wanted her in the brigade in the first place. Just because he got a little gooey-eyed over picturing her in costumes didn’t mean anything.

So I thought. I had cleaning duty after school, so it took me a bit to get to the club room. When I got to the Literature Club door, I took a minute to wipe the dust off my hands. That’s when I heard them.

They were _playing_ in there.

They were _laughing_ in there.

I opened the door, and I saw. They were playing a game of keep-away with the mouse to the desktop. Mikuru-chan reached for it, begging, pleading, and Kyon laughed nervously while trying to hold it out of reach. They noticed me right away, though. Mikuru-chan froze. I asked them what they were doing, and Kyon had this cross expression, like I shouldn’t have a problem, whatever I was thinking. And he might’ve been right. It’s not my job as brigade chief to stomp on people’s fun, but I knew what I’d seen. I’d seen Mikuru-chan _smiling_ —it wasn’t an expression of perseverance or distant gratitude. It was amusement. It was joy. I’d heard Kyon’s chuckles. He hadn’t a worry in the world at the time. He must’ve felt relaxed and carefree.

He wouldn’t laugh with me like that. That much hadn’t changed in a year—it’s not the way we are, and I’ve learned to accept that, but with Mikuru-chan around, it was so easy for him. I could see it. I felt it.

And it hurt me.

It made me self-conscious. What would he think if I started stripping off my gym clothes while he was there? That this time it was different? That this time, I wanted him to steal a peek?

I didn’t speak a word of that to him. I didn’t dare. I thought it was stupid of me, so I sent him out, but as I picked through the rack of clothes, my body betrayed me. It chose the bunny girl outfit, and I didn’t think about how chest wouldn’t breathe on a hot day. Nobody in their right mind would hang out in a bunny girl costume all afternoon, braiding another girl’s hair, and hoping you’d get looked at without having to say a word. Nobody would choose to be so pathetic.

That’s when I realized it. It wasn’t that no reasonable person would do those things. It was that most people were unreasonable, myself included. What’d happened to me wasn’t unsual. It was a phenomenon that affected thousands of people every second of every day.

I’d fallen in love with Kyon.

When I’d realized that, I’d stormed out of the club room and stomped all the way home. I shut myself in my room, and I stewed over that. I decided that if I was going to be legitimately attracted to someone, it was because they were special. They couldn’t be ordinary because then they wouldn’t be interesting just by definition, and since my feelings weren’t changing on the matter, Kyon had to be interesting, so that was that. As interesting as John Smith or an alien or anything else, and he was so close to me—just one desk in front.

But he’d spend his time, his curiosity, studying someone else. That really burned me up. If only I could get him alone…

That’s what I went to sleep thinking that night. And now, in hindsight, I know just how far I took that desire. Thankfully Kyon stopped me. He convinced me that this was a good world to be in.

He gave me a little bit of hope.

In the year since that time, I’d kept my feelings to myself. I couldn’t imagine having the time to add dating on top of brigade activities, for one. And I’d just met this guy, too. Maybe those feelings wouldn’t last or would fade with time.

But they hadn’t. It was why I tried not thinking of him like that. Those fantasies did funny things to me, and sometimes, they’d leak out without me noticing. If it came time for the brigade to write a story collection, Kyon would end up with the romance genre, just so I could see what he was thinking, what experience he had…

Or if he liked someone already.

Kyon and the others said earlier that night that I’d gotten better over the last year, that I’d changed. I hoped they were right. I thought maybe they were, at least a little bit. When we’d met Kyon’s friend from middle school a few months before, it stuck with me. I compared myself to that girl. I picked her apart and looked up everything I could, but the trail of this ‘Sasaki’ ran cold before Kyon’s middle school. Maybe that was convenient. Maybe it just made things easier to let go. Kyon wouldn’t call someone a close friend of his lightly, but if he liked her, that was what it was. I told myself that a hundred times—I was okay with it. I could stand it. You can convince yourself even of a blatant lie that way.

Now that I knew what I’d done in desperation, in wanting to be with him, I was glad I distanced myself. If we’d become involved and it didn’t work out, what would’ve happened? Maybe I’d have taken it well. Maybe I wouldn’t have, erasing him in a fit of rage and not even knowing what I’d done.

I wasn’t sure. If that scares you, it should. It scared me, too. And when I returned to that dark space again with Arakawa-san at my side, I knew that my fear was entirely justified.

  


I knew because I stood in that crosswalk with Arakawa-san, staring up into the face of a translucent, blue-white giant.

“Normally, when a closed space forms, we gather immediately to destroy the Celestials inside,” he said. “This is the only way to ensure the space’s collapse and guarantee the integrity of this world. Otherwise, the anomaly may grow and come to subsume this reality. What we discovered, however, was that if we merely wounded a Celestial, the growth of the space would be kept in check. Thus, even in periods of relative stability on your part, we can finely monitor your mental state by measuring changes in the space overnight.”

“Notice he won’t say what we’ve learned from this affair,” Mori-san chimed in.

Arakawa-san nodded apologetically. “All along, it’s been easier to build upon the knowledge we were given—the knowledge you gave us—rather than study and understand our powers on our own. Alas, we are no closer to understanding what we are, but knowing what state of mind you’re in, Suzumiya-sama—for my part, it gives time to prepare.”

“We clear our schedules when we know we’ve entered a period of instability,” said Mori-san. “How would you describe it, Arakawa? It’s like receiving a script of with highlighting and annotations but no actual text.”

“Less so since Koizumi joined this brigade,” he said. “By interacting with you directly, Suzumiya-sama, he was able to give a great deal of direction to us. It made him very influential, even if it was only by coincidence or accident. Nevertheless, this experiment is something we maintain in times of relative peace. It can be used as a practice area, a training ground of sorts, and the Celestial is kept weak enough that any one of us can dispatch of it.”

It was definitely weak. It was frozen, towering over the city like a statue to maniacal tyrant. That glowing, faceless beast—with just three red, pulsing eyes for a head—looked into the distance, like it was waiting for some trigger to erupt.

“It won’t be long,” said Mori-san. “It’s almost regrown fully. If there’s something driving it tonight, we’ll know in a minute. Shall we go? It’s much easier to watch from above.”

From above? How do we do that? Go inside one of these buildings and take an elevator to the roof?

“No, no,” said Arakawa-san, chuckling to himself. “We usually prefer a more efficient technique.”

He let go of my hand, and his whole body exuded a red glow. A sphere of ruby light surrounded him, and so did another with Mori-san ahead of us. They flew over me. Mori-san zoomed upward, to the top of an office building across the street.

“If you like, I can show you up there.” Arakawa-san’s voice reverberated somehow. His voice bounced around the red ball and echoed out. It was a kind offer from him, but I didn’t need it. I looked to the rooftop where Mori-san had reappeared as herself, looking down on the city.

And in an instant, I was up there, too.

“So my lesson didn’t take,” said Mori-san. “The goddess has embraced her powers after all, regardless of the risks or temptations they pose.”

Please. A little teleportation is nothing.

“Isn’t that what’s always said? Drowning a man or shocking him with a cattle prod is nothing when it gives the location of a terrorist’s cavern hideout. A trial for a witch is better than summary judgment. A little power can’t do too much harm, right? Such is the allure of the darker side of the heart.”

You’re the one who asked me here. No, don’t smile. Don’t pretend there’s no haughtiness in your voice, Mori-san. You don’t know what I’ve been through tonight. You’ve been on stage the whole time. Your talk worked. Koizumi-kun told you that. It worked too well at the stadium today. I want you to know that, too.

As Arakawa-san reappeared at her side, Mori-san looked at me curiously, but it wasn’t the time. There was movement on the block to the west. The giant was stirring.

“There,” said Arakawa-san. “It’s begun.”

The giant stood straight and tall, rearing to its full height. It turned, like it was looking right at us, but with no motion in its eyes, you couldn’t tell.

“Don’t be frightened,” said Mori-san. “We believe they’re incapable of hurting you. In fact, one of them may even have saved your life. But whatever their motives, they can’t be reasoned with. They have no minds of their own.”

Of course not. They’re all reflections of me.

The giant started walking—a firm, directed stride. It didn’t stomp any buildings or flatten any cars. It went down the street like a person tiptoeing around a model. What is it doing, Mori-san, Arakawa-san? I thought they only wrought destruction wherever they went.

“We thought so too, but we’ve observed several distinct behaviors from them,” said Arakawa-san. “We feel each mode of acting reflects a different emotional state. Destruction represents an intense dissatisfaction with this world or some part of it. A daze signifies confusion, a state in which emotions are in conflict with your greater sensibilities.”

There was a crash! The giant swung its arm through a skyscraper, and the top half plummeted to the earth. The office building beneath us rattled, but the giant wasn’t finished. It kicked and bashed at that one tower, taking it apart floor by floor. Soon, nothing was left above the height of the surrounding buildings. I thought it would raze the structure to its foundations, but I couldn’t see to be sure. Then, for no apparent reason, it took off again, walking past us. It seemed to be studying everything in sight, so its carnage was very discriminating. It picked out an intersection and dug there, smashing through the pavement, but its fury was fixed on that one spot.

“It’s not anger that drives it, we think,” said Mori-san.

Then what does it want here? What is it _I_ want to accomplish with this place?

Arakawa-san cleared his throat and answered in a serious tone.

“In truth,” he said, “we were hoping you could tell us.”

Over the course of twenty minutes, Mori-san and Arakawa-san took turns noting the giant’s behavior. They marked off positions of destroyed buildings on a map—one scribbled over with an array of dates—some with several to their name. Arakawa-san explained it to me. “That convenience store two blocks down? It’s been demolished several times. The buildings all restore themselves just as the Celestial does. It must not be convinced it’s finished, so the structures are reconstituted, too.”

How meticulous they were in trying to understand the giant’s motives— _my_ motives. I watched the giant all that time, but it was a mistake to try to understand it like it was something else, something outside of me. If I were the one stomping out buildings and tearing them apart to their basements and the parking decks below, why would I do it?

What would I be looking for?

That’s a hard thing to realize—that there’s something you want, but you don’t understand it. It bugged the hell out of me with Kyon before. It was nothing I wanted to revisit, either. Having that feeling twist about and burn inside me colored my behavior. It changed who I was without me even realizing it. That’s another reason, I guess, that I didn’t want to get together with him. I was always afraid I’d change myself in ways I shouldn’t, that I didn’t want to. Maybe that was cowardly on my part.

Maybe no one should have this much insight into their subconscious.

In the end, it was Arakawa-san who put the giant, the “Celestial,” down. He flew out in the ball of red light and severed the giant’s arms from its body. When it lost its balance and fell, he sliced up the legs too, so it would thrash about helplessly in the street. Only after some useless minutes beating around did it tire from its tantrum, and all was still again.

“Don’t be fooled,” warned Mori-san. “It knows how to feign weakness. It can play dead. Arakawa will have to keep an eye on it for a bit, just to be sure it’s given up.”

And you mean to imply what—that it learned deception from me? “Mori-san,” I said, “you did know what really happened to Asakura, didn’t you?”

“Yes, of course. I won’t pretend I didn’t. We all heard about it in due time.”

“She came back today.”

Mori-san flinched. “So she did? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. She’s been back before, like when Nagato Yuki was—”

“She cornered me at the Tigers game,” I said. “She was unhappy I that I wouldn’t use my powers.”

“She said that?”

“She enclosed the stadium in her data jurisdiction thing and tried to fling fifty thousand people into the air, hoping that I’d save them…or that she’d get to see them all die.”

She wavered on her feet, like someone had punched her in the gut. Her hand reached out for the rooftop railing, and she grabbed on for support. “Did you stop her?” she asked.

“No. Because I listened to you, because I wanted to spite her, I didn’t do anything. Yuki tried. She stopped Asakura before too many fans lost their grip on the ground, but some of them had already flown away. When Asakura was beaten, the force of gravity came back.”

“How many were…?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it was a lot. Maybe a dozen? I can’t be sure.”

“But even one person is too many.”

I’m glad we agree on that.

“So that’s why Koizumi saw fit to tell you,” she said. “Forgive me. It wasn’t my intent to make you toothless in the face of dangerous beings like Asakura Ryōko.”

“Then what _were_ you trying to do?” I asked her. “Koizumi-kun said that something like this wasn’t like you, that you didn’t like plots or deceptions meant to control me. Is that the truth, or have you been acting for the benefit of the others in your group, too?”

“No, no, there is no act, no contradiction. It’s always saddened me to think we should provide amusement for a young girl, lest her boredom and melancholy prove too destructive. I knew this day would come—that, invariably, you would learn the truth of things. I thought we should avoid your anger at being deceived. The others, in large part, always felt it better to be proactive, but how would you learn to accept what the world gives you if there’s always a merry band of players ready to stage whatever you fancy?”

That explained the past, but that afternoon at the station was still a mystery to me. “And now?” I asked.

“As I said, when you struck down that Taniguchi-kun, the others were very frightened. They saw the consequences of their actions coming to haunt them. They argued. They were restless. That only tells why they could take no action, though. Why I did…” She let out a heavy breath. “Well, I’ve never been fond of this task. You must know that by now. I’ve pursued it out of necessity, thinking it as essential as the sun’s daily rise and fall, but there are others who have embraced this power, not me. I’ve wondered long and often why I was chosen, why you would want me to take up this duty I didn’t want. If you had something in mind, I couldn’t fathom it. But while the others were frightened that your powers were coming out, I knew what I felt—that I didn’t want to live in a world where one girl, in her displeasure, can smite anyone she chooses. That’s no place I want to stay, so I went to you. I almost didn’t. I almost lost the nerve to do it when you called to me so warmly, but I went ahead. I felt that, if you were a wrathful god, then you’d erase me just as I said, and I wouldn’t be here to see the chaos to come. If instead you were benevolent, if you had the heart of a good and decent person, you’d remember my words, and even with this power I’ve never wanted, I could stand to live in this world.”

All this time, she’d looked away, to the prone giant. Arakawa-san, in his translucent red sphere, floated back to us. “It’s finished, Mori. Shall we return?”

I could take care of that. In a flash, I put us back on the sidewalk below, with the orange hue of the streetlights casting rough shadows on the concrete.

“Ah,” said Arakawa-san. “That will take some time to get used to. Thank you, Suzumiya-sama.”

You’re welcome.

“Mori,” he said, “ready to go?”

Our eyes met—Mori-san’s and mine. “Give us a moment,” she said.

He nodded once, acknowledging her. He started the car but left it idling while Mori-san and I stepped aside.

“I don’t want to give the wrong impression,” she said. “Being involved in this has let me be part of a great adventure. There are many mysteries in this world—I see that now—and they’re all around us, at that. There was a time I thought that was enough, that wanting anything else was foolish and selfish. Nevertheless…”

Nevertheless, you didn’t choose this life on your own. Maybe you convinced yourself otherwise at one time, but that doesn’t last. I know because I’ve done the same. I didn’t give you a choice, Mori-san. It could be I’ve never given anyone around me any choice to do what they want or how to go about it.

I still wanted to mistrust her. I still wanted to hate her, a little bit, for what she made me feel that night at the station, what I felt from the incident at the stadium—how trying to do the right thing made me helpless against Asakura’s powers and her terrifying grin—but it’s best to let things go, isn’t it? Otherwise, I’d prove Mori-san’s fears right all along, and I didn’t want that. Regardless of what she’d done, I still owed her something: a debt four years in the making.

“You don’t have to do this anymore,” I said. “You could stop being an esper.”

She laughed. “I’ve tried to block out the sensations, the knowledge. What can you do—”

I shot her a look. Really, Mori-san, did you forget who you were talking to?

“No, I couldn’t,” she said. “I can’t ask that of you. The Agency has to exist, for your sanity!”

“The ‘Agency’ can be made up of people who want to be there,” I said. “And if I learn to contain myself, to stop making these giants or whatever they’re called, there might not be any need for espers then. You wondered how I should learn to go through life without distractions being staged around me. How should I learn not to need you if you’re always there to clean up my mind?”

Mori-san fidgeted with her hands.

“You don’t have to make a decision today,” I told her. “Sleep on it. Give it some thought, and—”

“No!” she cried. “I don’t need any time. Let me be clear, Suzumiya-sama: I’ve always been an actress at heart. Even on that day when I woke up and _knew_ what you asked of me, I viewed it simply as another role to play, one I’d put my heart into as long as I could, but every day, I feel the weight of it. I want to act because it makes me happy, not because I have to or because it gives me an illusion of control on my life that I don’t really have. I’m tired, Suzumiya-sama. I hate to say it, but I am.”

That’s all right, Mori-san. I understand you now, and I know you won’t threaten me or my friends again. That’s all I wanted when I went looking for you, and I think we both got something out of it. “Good night, Mori-san.”

She gave me a nod, a gesture of genuine respect. “Good night.”

I watched the car with Mori-san and Arakawa-san drive off. They seemed like good friends, despite Mori-san’s displeasure. I thought to give them one last night as colleagues. Maybe she’d tell him what she told me. Maybe she wouldn’t.

Either way, come tomorrow morning, Mori-san would be a new woman, exactly like she asked me to do.

When the car turned a corner, I removed myself from that place. My itinerary for the night was as-yet unfinished, so I put myself outside a familiar apartment building and walked into the entrance lobby, stopping before the call box by the door. I’d been there many times. I knew, if I dialed the numbers _708_ and said my name, the doors would open quickly, but I wasn’t there to see Yuki. She’d done enough that night, after all. She and Kyon had told me much, and she’d saved that stadium full of people when I wasn’t sure what to do. Mori-san would get what she wanted. She wouldn’t bother us again, but there was someone else I had to talk to, and I had a strong feeling she’d be in that apartment building—the one where Yuki lived, the one where _she_ used to.

I’d spoken with the landlord a few times since meeting him the year before. If I talked to him from too far away, he’d pretend he couldn’t hear until I stepped closer. He’s a massive pervert, but because of that, he’d tell me a lot. He told me a story about a couple who moved into a fifth-floor room. They’d moved in hastily and left even faster, saying the place was haunted somehow. Before, I thought it was the ghost of an old schoolmate. Maybe she’d been ritually murdered, and her spirit still wanted to live in her old place.

After that night at the stadium, though, I knew better.

“I’ve overstepped and been disciplined, but there are others like me who want to meet with you.” She’d winked. “You know where to find me.”

I absolutely did. I punched the numbers into the call box. _505_.

Click. The double doors slid open before the other end rang even once. That’s when I was certain—she was there. She’d been waiting for me. She was right to think I’d seek her out, but surely not for the reasons she expected. Now that I knew who I was and what I could do, she needed to know— _I_ needed her to know—that she couldn’t threaten my friends again and get away with it.

I rode the elevator to the fifth floor and knocked on the door with no nameplate, and sure enough, the _thing_ that answered had a wide, inhuman smile.

“Why hello there!” she greeted me. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Yes, I know.

Asakura stepped aside like she was inviting me in. Through the doorway, the hall behind her was empty and dark, but I felt the warmth of wafting steam.

“Would you like some tea?” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ashiya is a town just to the west of Nishinomiya.
> 
> The play Mori and Arakawa are performing here is _The Crucible_ by Arthur Miller. While the setting of the play is the Salem Witch Trials of colonial times, the true intention was to assail the witchhunt that was taking place in that time—the scouring of American society for communists by Senator Joseph McCarthy, the House Un-American Activities Committee, and others governmental bodies. Mori’s role here is that of Abigail Williams, a primary accuser in the play who uses the hysteria to level an accusation at her lover’s wife.
> 
> The line Mori has about awakening a giant is meant to be superficially similar to the famous quote misattributed to Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto of the Imperial Japanese Navy. The quote, of course, only comes from the film _Tora! Tora! Tora!_ , and in it, Yamamoto’s character is given the line, “I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve.” There is no evidence he really uttered those words or used them in any correspondence, however.
> 
> The anecdote about a voice actor’s bad experience with method acting techniques is in reference to Megumi Hayashibara of _Ranma_ , _Evangelion_ , and _Pokémon_ fame. This anecdote, and several others about Hayashibara’s career and personal life, is recounted in her _Megumi Toons_ manga strips, which are freely translated online.


	7. The Alien Planet

When I was in middle school, I used to spend hours upon hours trying to think up what an alien might look like. I didn’t talk to people at lunch. I’d spend the break doodling in the margins of my notebooks instead. Aliens, in my mind, should never have anything remotely resembling the human body. Even creatures like starfish are totally different from human beings, yet they exist on this very planet! In my notebooks, I set out to correct that fallacy. I drew weblike creatures that would devour their prey by engulfing them, like how white blood cells surround and destroy bacteria. I imagined sludge monsters that spit acid and burrowed straight into rock. When my father discovered one of these notebooks, he took me aside, concerned that I was obsessed with frightening creatures.

That’s when I told him to read one of Mother’s hobby stories. He didn’t say a word after that.

As much as I’d wondered what aliens might be like, I felt the human imagination was entirely inadequate. There are and always will be possibilities people can’t hope to conceive of. It makes the suggestion that some great, thirty-story white giant came along and seeded Earth’s oceans with orange goo a real farce, to be honest. We tend to think we’re so special when we’re not.

All that said, it stands to reason that aliens who come to Earth would want to disguise themselves as humans. It’d be easier to interact with us that way. It’d be easier to blend in. That’s why I didn’t find the suggestion of these “humanoid interfaces” so surprising. It absolutely made sense to me.

But it also meant that you’d be tempted to treat an alien in a human body like they were any other person—like they would understand us, like they’d think the way we do. That tendency made the inhumanness of the being before me all the more apparent and unsettling. Standing in front of room 505—her old doorway—was Asakura, and I knew well how fundamentally alien she was. She was dangerous. She hadn’t just staged an attack at the stadium. She’d tried to kill Kyon, and not just once, either. That’s why I wasn’t about to walk into that dark, shadowy apartment with her, and be taken in by the allure of the unknown…or her false smile.

“My, you’re so different now,” she said, pouting. “Isn’t there a little voice inside you, just begging for a little peek? We’ve been watching you for a long time, you know. There was a time when you’d have found all this so exciting. It _does_ excite you, doesn’t it?”

Even if it did, that’d be none of your business.

“Are you sure I can’t interest you in some tea?” she asked. “I needed a place to stay tonight. It seemed a shame to sit and wait in an empty room, so I thought I could at least be hospitable. Isn’t that what humans do?”

I wasn’t sure if she meant it like an alien looking down on quaint human customs or if she seriously thought such small gestures would really make me sit down at a table with her. Either way, every word she spoke gave me chills.

“All right, if I can’t interest you in privacy, we can speak out here.” She held out her hand, curling her fingers, and from nothing, a shimmering light appeared.

“Stop that,” I snapped. “What are you doing?”

The glittering blue-white light took form and cooled. Her fingers closed around a pure white teacup, and a trace of stream rose from the top. She took the cup to her mouth, closed her eyes, and sipped. “Oh!” She wrinkled her nose. “I think I may have burned myself. How unpleasant. How do you learn not to do that?”

It takes practice and time and a sense of taste.

Or, at minimum, the ability to feel.

“Now, now, Suzumiya-san, you didn’t come all this way to be so silent, did you?”

No, not a chance. Like with Mori-san, I’d wanted to understand this “person,” if you could call her that. I looked her in the eye, even though it made my skin feel diseased and rotten. She was pretty, you know. I won’t deny that. If she hadn’t been, maybe it would’ve been less unsettling. I knew, at the time, that there were people—real, genuine, human beings—who might’ve smiled and laughed like she did after what happened at the stadium just a few hours before, but I doubt even they would’ve creeped me out the way she did. She was pretty and fit, but when I looked at her, knowing she wasn’t human, it felt like looking at a machine with false skin slapped on its face.

In the end, Koizumi-kun was human. Mikuru-chan was human, even if from far in the future. Kyon was human, too, so we could all relate and understand each other. As for Yuki, she saved us. I felt we could understand her, too, but this Asakura—

Maybe even talking to her was a mistake.

“Why did you do it?” I asked her.

She raised an eyebrow. “Such a simple question. Nagato-san’s surely told you that by now. Or didn’t she? She keeps a lot to herself, you know.”

I twitched. I wasn’t going to let her turn it into a conversation about the others. The only people there were she and I. That’s all. “Listen to me carefully,” I told her, “because I’m only going to say this once. I know you and your people are interested in my powers. You can be ‘interested’ all you like; I don’t care. I know what I’m capable of now. If you do anything that’s even a fraction as heinous as what happened at Kōshien today, I won’t hold back. This is the one warning you get. Do you understand me? Or is my human speech too primitive to get the message across?”

She smiled blithely, as if I’d told her I was baking cookies for her! “Quite the contrary, Suzumiya-san, I understand perfectly. It’s exactly what we’ve come to expect from you. Naturally you want to protect Nagato-san and the rest of your friends. The bond between me and my colleagues is the same.”

You could try to be a bit more convincing.

“But I think you misunderstand our intentions,” she said. “Tell me, Suzumiya-san: how do you feel, knowing that the creatures you’ve been searching for have been right under your nose?”

“They had their reasons to keep secrets,” I said, “and they had enough respect for me that they told me what was going on when it’d be stupid to keep quiet any longer.”

“Oh?” She set her teacup on the railing. “Doesn’t it seem curious to you? There you are—a human being with powers your species should be incapable of wielding. A time-traveler would want to expand her knowledge of the past, of a phenomenon so astounding, wouldn’t she? An esper made by your hand would want to understand why he was chosen and what else you’d command him to do, wouldn’t he?”

“What’s your point?” I demanded.

She smiled again. “So impatient we are. Look out beyond the streetlights and into the heavens, Suzumiya-san. The universe outside this iron rock is unimaginably vast, isn’t it? Pick any direction, and there’s a star somewhere, deep in the cosmos. I know you know this. You’ve thought the very same thing, haven’t you?”

I really wished she’d stop telling me what I thought, but yes, I’d been known to look up in the night sky from time to time. Even while we were standing there, I glanced out, over the horizon, where the stars were shining brightly. When you look at the constellations for a while, it seems like everything else dissolves and melts away. The buildings and the trees fade into the darkness, and it’s like you’re alone in outer space.

It doesn’t hurt that an alien data creature can make the floor below you disappear and push the walls and lights of an apartment building far away. Then, it’s just you and her in the starfield, with no sense of where the ground is or where anything else has gone.

“What are you doing?” I cried. “Stop that!”

“I’m helping you visualize,” she said. “Is it working?”

“Take me back!”

“Why? You have power. You can go wherever you like.”

“I said take me back!”

In a flash, there was light. The apartment building came back to me, and I wobbled on my feet, my weight unsteady. I grabbed the railing, and it jerked loosely. It rattled. The teacup that sat atop it teetered and fell, shattering on the floor.

“My, what a shame,” said Asakura, peering down at the mess. “But it’s the nature of things, I suppose. Order is unstable. The nature of statistics and entropy tells us so.” With a wave of her hand, the tea and pieces of cup shimmered, vanishing into the nether whence they came. “That’s why we’re so interested in you, Suzumiya-san. The Integrated Data Sentient Entity has existed since ten microseconds after the birth of this universe. As space expanded, so did its intelligence. It is everywhere, at every place and every time. Throughout its fourteen-billion-year life, it has catalogued the traits and character of lifeforms on millions of worlds, yet never has it observed a being capable of creating data. You, Suzumiya-san—you are truly unique. More than anything, we wish to understand you. You’re a mystery to us, and that’s why we’ve come here. We’re merely explorers of the cosmos. We’re like you.”

“Bullshit! You want my powers. You want them to evolve yourselves or whatever it is.”

She tilted her head. “Don’t humans wish to improve themselves, too?”

Really? Trying to compare herself to real human beings? Please. I won’t pretend all people are saints, but what a joke! I scoffed at her. “Whatever. I said what I came to say. You can either listen to it or don’t.” I turned for the elevator.

“Perhaps you’d have felt better if you hadn’t delivered this threat at all?”

What was that supposed to mean?

“You may not think us at all alike,” she said, “but like you, we seek out mysteries we don’t understand. We embrace them and appreciate them. Are you so certain your friends feel the same?”

“They don’t wish mass murder on people solely for their amusement,” I said. “They don’t watch me like a creepy stalker hoping to learn something dangerous, either.”

“I’m not the only one watching you, Suzumiya-san. You know that.”

I looked back at her, but she was peering around me with an amused, creepily playful expression. I followed her gaze down the walkway, and I saw who she meant. Outside the elevator stood Yuki, her eyes blank and inscrutable.

“Ask her yourself if you like,” said Asakura. “And if you want to find me again, all you need to do is say my name, and I will appear. That’s a promise, okay?”

The blue-haired alien stepped back into the darkness of room 505. The door closed behind her, and I had a feeling it wouldn’t reopen even if I tried it. I turned back—

And there was Yuki, not a step away from me.

“Wha—Yuki, how did you—?”

“You’re hungry,” she said.

Well, that was true. I’d planned to make something at home, but I hadn’t stayed there very long, and I hadn’t felt like eating at the stadium, either, for my own reasons.

“I will prepare a meal.”

She started walking, her footsteps silent, back to the elevator, and after a few steps separated us, I decided to follow. Asakura was right about one thing—I did want to talk to Yuki. In a way, she was the one member of the brigade who, even after these revelations, or maybe because of them, I felt I knew the least about.

  


When we’d started talking at the café earlier that night, the conversation was a bit confused. I still had some spots of marker on my face (which Kyon so helpfully pointed out), and that’s what got us chatting about the nature of my powers, about what I could and couldn’t do. What really interested me, though, were the others. I wanted to know all about where—when?—time-travelers came from or what abilities espers could use on other people. I guess I was jumping from topic to topic a bit fast because Kyon got a little exasperated. “Perhaps we can handle one type of paranormal being at a time?” he offered.

That was Kyon all right. He was never one for making things complicated. On his suggestion, we started with Koizumi-kun, and that’s how I learned all about espers and how I gave them their powers, how I… _created them_. I guess that’s the way to put it. In explaining her time-travel, Mikuru-chan was a bit less helpful. It seemed like she’d been programmed not to talk about future technology or anything like that except in the most general, abstract sense. Even though Kyon had spilled the beans on everything, she still found it difficult to speak coherently without catching herself.

That only left Yuki really—Yuki and Asakura, two aliens from different sides of the same being: an ‘Integrated Data Sentient Entity,’ whatever that means. Yuki said even less than Mikuru-chan (which, knowing Yuki, that’s not really surprising), so most of the explanation had to come from Kyon.

“Asakura came after you because her boss—Nagato’s boss, too—is interested in your powers,” he said. “The best impression I get is that there are lots of voices within this Integrated Data Sentient Entity thing, and about the only real consensus they have regarding you is that your abilities are important to them. They feel like you’re the key to enhancing their existence—‘auto-evolution,’ I guess it is. Up to now, they’ve been happy to just watch and hope to learn something. Mori-san’s intimidation must’ve scared them, too, if they thought you wouldn’t use your powers ever again. Is that about right, Nagato?”

Yuki nodded but said nothing.

“Though I don’t understand how they could think attacking you—or any of us—at the stadium would do any good,” said Kyon.

“Self-defense,” was Yuki’s simple answer.

“You’re saying your masters feel inaction and observation are no longer a safe course?” asked Koizumi-kun.

Yuki nodded.

“Why’s that?” I asked. “Because of my power?”

“You threatened them,” she explained, “and now they are threatened.”

Me? I hadn’t threatened them. I didn’t even know I could until Kyon told me so.

That’s when I realized Yuki wasn’t looking at me, though. Koizumi-kun, Mikuru-chan, and Yuki were on the opposite side of the booth. Kyon sat beside me, across from Koizumi-kun. If Yuki had been looking straight ahead, like she’d done all night, her stare would’ve gone right through me, but it didn’t.

She was looking at Kyon.

The topic of conversation quickly turned elsewhere, and at first, I didn’t want it to. I wanted that explained, but it was Kyon who persuaded me to let it go. He touched my elbow, met my gaze, and shook his head ever-so-slightly. I took that as a promise, mind you, and Kyon didn’t disappoint. After the five of us left the café, Kyon and I hung back for a bit, and among the things we talked about was the threat he’d made against Yuki’s bosses and why he did it. He put his hands in his pockets and looked over the island across the street.

“The thing is,” he said, “if the Integrated Data Sentient Entity had its way, Nagato wouldn’t be with us right now. Around Christmas, Nagato experienced a problem. She’d call it an _error_ , but I don’t think that really describes it. She found some way to borrow your powers, Haruhi. I don’t know how. I don’t even understand how it’s possible if you didn’t approve in some way, but it’s reality. Nagato became unstable and used your powers to wipe people’s memories. She made a new world, essentially, but she gave me the choice to change it back if I wanted to.” He cracked a half-smile. “So here we are?”

Yuki, of all people, having what amounted to a breakdown? How could that happen?

“I won’t pretend I understand it completely,” Kyon went on, “but I think her boss really gave Nagato the short end of the stick. There’s nothing that says she had to be made the way she is. Look at Asakura—for all her warped motivations, she knows how to express emotion, even if she doesn’t know what it means. If anything, Nagato’s the opposite, and I can’t help but think a little bit of what Asakura has—the most innocent, innocuous piece—wouldn’t have hurt. But it is what it is. Once everything was back to normal, the only thing on my mind was making sure Nagato wouldn’t be punished for what wasn’t her fault. That’s why I threatened the Entity and any interface who’s a part of it. If they tried to take Nagato away, I wouldn’t stand for it, and I figured you wouldn’t, either. Anything funny like that, and I’d tell you I was John Smith. If need be, you could make a world without the Entity but with Nagato still here.” He frowned. “I guess, all this time, I was basically speaking for you.”

To protect Yuki, whether I knew what she was or not, that was forgivable, really. “But what kind of error would make Yuki do that?” I asked him. “What was she trying to do?”

He flinched. “That’s…complicated.”

“You know something.”

“If I do, I wish I didn’t. Those few days in December haunt me even now.” He sighed. “I do have my suspicions, but out of respect for Nagato, I really shouldn’t say. If I’m right, it would impinge on her privacy. You should ask her, if you get the chance. I think that’d be for the best.”

That made me wonder. If it really was just a bug of sorts, an error, what would it have to do with her privacy? As an alien, what would she want to protect?

I shouldn’t lump all aliens together, though. Even at that time, Yuki was clearly different from Asakura, and I don’t mean just in the sense of which sides they were on or their outward behavior. Asakura would invite me to dinner seeing it as an opportunity to sway me. From Yuki, I could think of no such sinister motive. Even the thought just wouldn’t make sense to me.

But there had to be a reason.

It was a quarter to midnight when we left the elevator on the seventh floor, and once I said my thanks to Yuki for inviting me to her home, I had to ask. “Yuki, how did you know I would be here?”

“Watching,” she said.

“You were watching me?”

A nod.

“Since when?”

“You remember.”

Since I turned around in my kitchen, thinking you were there? Since I told Kyon about this magic coin, and Kyon’s friend Kunikida spotted you in the hall?

“Yes.”

An answer a logician would be proud of, Yuki.

On entering the main room, I noticed things had changed since I’d been there last. There was a television set on a new stand to the left of the curtain. A collection of board games and cards had been stacked neatly in a corner, a relic of our New Year’s party. It was a bit of an improvement. I remember when I first came to Yuki’s place, I was floored at how barren it was. Everything was just _there_. The decor was totally utilitarian. Back then, I thought it was unhealthy. There was hardly any indication Yuki really lived there at all!

But as Yuki invited me to sit at her table, I understood what that nagging feeling had been. An alien would hardly understand the meaning of, say, a license plate hanging in the window or a poster pinned to the wall. If she had no sentimental attachments or put no value on her own comfort, she wouldn’t bother with such embellishments.

In a small way, Yuki had become more human over the past year. She always picked things up quickly. I saw her open the refrigerator, and there was a smattering of fresh food inside—spring onions and leeks, among other things. Not too long before that, all she’d had around was rice and some canned goods. They say if you live in a foreign country, it’s inevitable that you’ll pick up some of their habits and customs. It seemed that even for an alien that could be true.

“Yuki,” I began, “what are you making?”

“Beef curry rice.”

“A special recipe of yours?”

“I’ve never made it.”

Well that’s silly. I could help with something as simple as that.

“Sit.” She caught me rising from the table. “You are a guest.”

Honestly, aside from being a bit short with people sometimes, she was really too human to dismiss as _just_ an alien. I watched her prepare the stew for the meat and vegetables. I did have to tell her not to drop the whole block of instant curry powder in boiling water all at once. She blinked at that—I think she was puzzled?—but eased it into the pot safely. Even aliens have to learn new things.

I guess I shouldn’t have marveled so much at that, but to me, it was a bit of a shock. It was exciting on one hand—Yuki was an alien, a creature from out of this world—but on the other, I did have to wonder: how much of what we’d done as a group, as the _brigade_ , relied on someone like Yuki going along with things because that would maintain the status quo?

“Hey, can I look around a bit?”

“You may.”

I poked my head in the bedroom first. What did I know about Yuki before that night? That she liked to read above all else, that she had ‘problems’ with her family, so to speak. Some problems. Most families don’t want you dissolved back into qubits and repurposed to analyze supernovae or anything like that—if that’s even what they’d use her for. What else was there? She was a whiz with computers. That should come as no surprise. The Computer Club was always begging her to come over and fix their code. Must’ve been a real pleasure for them, having a girl around who could whip up an operating system none of them could understand.

But in the bedroom there was so little. Just a bed, really. The main room had gained some personality, but this most private place of hers she let me into without an argument, and why? Because there was nothing in it she wanted to keep for herself.

“Don’t you have any books?” I called out.

“In my bag,” came the answer, soft as a whisper.

“You don’t have any of your own? They’re all at school?”

“Borrowed.”

“That’s a shame,” I said. “What if you want to read one of them again?”

“I remember.”

“All of them?”

There was no answer.

I guess if you have perfect memory you don’t need to reread things, but I’d have thought there’d be something to gain, all the same. Maybe it’d make the memory a little clearer….

Bump! My foot slammed into the bedpost. I hadn’t been looking very carefully when I should’ve been.

And by the far leg, a CD case fell over, sliding into view on the floor. The front of the disc said it was recordable, but there was no label. I peered under the bed, and there was a small stereo set, too.

“What’s this for?” I called out. “Are you interested in music?”

“Leave it.”

For Yuki, the words were unusually forceful.

“Please,” she said.

A private disc that Yuki wanted no one to see—well, I knew better than to mess with an alien’s listening choices. Really, though, I’d have thought Yuki would go for something modern like an MP3 player or quaint like a record. CDs are just too new to be nostalgic and too old to be efficient.

Speaking of music, some kind of catchy tune broke the calmness, drowning out the sound of boiling water and simmering spices--

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” I asked.

There was no response from Yuki. The ringtone kept going on—something about a happiness greater than magic pouring down from the heavens, I think. It sounded kind of catchy. I went back into the main room and found Yuki’s phone not a meter away from her on the kitchen counter. There was no name on the screen, just a number, but it was a number I knew well. I answered, putting the phone on speaker for Yuki to hear.

“Kyon, what are you doing calling Yuki at this time of night?”

There was a considerable silence at the other end of the line for at least five seconds. “…Haruhi? Is that you?”

No, it’s just Yuki doing an impression of me. Actually, she might be able to do that.

“Well, that’s a relief. At least now I can say with a straight face I know exactly where you are—that you’re not outside my window or something foolish like that.”

Just who would think, if I’d come all the way to your window, I’d bother staying _outside_ it?

“Your father—he’s here!”

“My father?” I echoed. “How does he know where you live?”

“That’s what I’d like to know! What does he do? He knows my name! He knows my parents’ names! He even knows where I keep pictures of…of…”

Pictures, Kyon?

“…never mind that. But what is he? Some kind of hacker?”

Well, that’s actually not a bad description. “So my father thinks you and I have been looking for the Colonel in the Dōton Canal?”

He sputtered. “What kind of euphemism is—and wait a minute, they found the Colonel’s statue two years ago!”

So?

“…anyway, your father’s here, saying that if we produce you, he’ll keep it quiet from your mother. He thinks it’s healthy for you. That’s what he said. I’m not making this up.”

That was Father all right, always a bit too enthusiastic when it came to my social life. It was like that time in middle school I brought home a classmate I’d been seeing. Mother was horrified at first, but Father insisted it was healthy and that I should have freedom of choice and all that stuff. He promised he’d be the stauchest supporter of our relationship.

At least, he was until I kissed her goodnight.

“Kyon,” I said, “what does all this have to do with calling Yuki?”

“Ah, when your father got here, I asked Nagato if she could track you down. What I didn’t expect was that your father would _stay_ and strike up a conversation with my sister of all people.” He sighed. “But, at least Nagato found you. Thank you for that, Nagato.”

Yuki stared intently at the pot of curry.

“She’s not going to say anything, huh?” observed Kyon.

“Nope!” I said. “She’s making dinner.”

“At midnight?”

“Wasn’t my idea, but Yuki insisted. You can’t exactly say no to her, can you?”

“I see. But Haruhi, what about—”

“Don’t worry; I’ll take care of Father.” My stomach growled. “Well, it might take a good meal to think instead of listening to an empty stomach.”

“How long will that be?”

“Who can say? It’s rude to rush dinner when you’re the guest.”

“But Haruhi!”

“Just tell Father I’m not decent yet. He’ll buy that.”

“And what will my mother say?”

“She’s interested in her son acting like a healthy teenage boy, right?”

“But—”

I closed the phone and looked up to Yuki’s unwavering gaze. She was staring right at me.

“What?” I asked her. “Something wrong?”

She faced forward and started mumbling something—a distorted, warbling sound. The big metal pot vanished, and instead, there was a steaming plate of curry sauce, beef, potatoes, carrots, and rice. No time to finish cooking, Yuki?

“We lack the luxury of time,” she said. “I have constructed a time dilation field to accelerate the passage of time in this apartment. You may eat leisurely if you wish.”

“What about your dinner?” I asked.

She handed me the plate. “I no longer wish to eat.”

That wasn’t awkward at all.

I will say, though, that Yuki’s cooking was pretty good. The sauce seemed a bit thick, but that’s a personal preference. I would’ve liked to see Yuki finish cooking by hand instead of incanting a Perl script to do it so fast, but under the circumstances, I certainly understood. And really, I had other things on my mind—not just how to get my father away from Kyon’s place without giving him the wrong idea. Yuki sat across from me, and though she didn’t say much, she watched everything. Of that, I was sure. She watched every bite. She offered tea when I reached for a cup instinctively and found nothing. It wasn’t a good feeling; I felt like I was intruding, even though she’d invited me in.

“You know, Yuki, I didn’t get to thank you for what you did at the stadium tonight,” I said. “I’m grateful you were there and that you…” I steeled myself, forcing the words out, even if they were difficult to say. “That you knew what to do and did it when I couldn’t. If anyone else had been hurt, if anyone in the brigade had been, I’d really hate myself.”

“I would, too,” she said.

A note of compassion. Well, that was a good start. “I know a lot’s changed after tonight. Things like what you had to do at Kōshien just reinforce, in my mind, that you’ve done a lot for the brigade. I mean, look at just now—when Kyon needs help, he calls on you, and you never protest. He should at least buy you a book or something.”

“We go to the library.”

“Well, good! He should keep doing that. More often than he does, even.”

“The frequency is sufficient.”

“Oh, well, that’s good, too,” I said, “but what I mean is, if there’s anything I can do for you—”

“Unnecessary.”

“Well, Kyon explained to me a bit about what your situation is with the other aliens, why he had to threaten them with my power to protect you.”

She said nothing, but her stare was intense.

“He wouldn’t tell me what is was that made you, you know, borrow my powers. Give him some credit; he respects you too much for that. Is that something I could help with? Something you’d want to talk about?”

“I do not understand the source of the error.”

“Not at all? Sorry to hear that. If you do figure out it, you can let me know, and I’ll do what I can, okay?”

She said nothing.

“Well…” I looked down, and I realized my plate was nearly empty. “I guess I can put this in the sink?”

“I will clean it,” she said.

“It’s the least I can do, really.”

“You have business elsewhere.”

That was true, wasn’t it? Regardless of any time warping or whatever other effects, I had someplace to be. “Thanks for the meal, then, Yuki; I was getting a bit starved after being out for so long.”

“…”

I went back to the front door and traded guest slippers for my shoes. I admit, I was a bit disappointed. It seemed that Yuki the alien was just as hard to pry open as the little bookworm girl I’d thought she was all this time. Everyone in the brigade is important. And make no mistake—earlier that night, they shared something really amazing with me. For that, I was thankful; there was no way I’d forget. There were no secrets between us anymore, when Yuki told me she really didn’t understand why she’d taken my powers, even for a day, I had no choice but to take her at her word.

  


I realized a bit later that maybe not everyone in my shoes—with my powers and abilities—would’ve let something nagging at them go so easily. In the movies, that would’ve been the point when the invincible, all-powerful protagonist probes the mind of her friends and discovers that, as much as they may follow her and tolerate her, there are aspects of her personality and behavior they can’t help but dislike. And in her arrogance, the omnipotent protagonist would punish her so-called friends for daring to criticize her, even though they never said anything—the only reason she ever found out was because she violated their minds. Then who knows what would happen. Maybe she’d erase them one-by-one until just the only person she couldn’t bear to be without was left. Then, the question would be whether she’d follow through with her anger or had a shred of humanity left, enough to repent.

Doesn’t that sound terrible?

As much as I was left wondering after leaving Yuki’s place, I knew there’d be plenty of time to figure things out. I mean, it’s not often you meet an alien who’s suffered hundreds upon hundreds of years in a time loop, let alone in one you created. If she’d said something like that, I would’ve understood.

After dinner with Yuki, I teleported straight home. If Father had thought himself so sure I’d gone to see Kyon, I figured there was a way to turn things around on him. Sure enough, when I found Mother in bed, scribbling away at her notebook, I was certain of it. She’d been so immersed in her writing that she didn’t know Father and I had gone, so it was a simple matter of having her call him and ask why Father was bothering a friend of mine when I’d been right at home the whole time. I felt bad for Father, but it was better not to reveal the truth to him quite like that.

That feeling didn’t last for too long, though. The next day, Father had to put in a half-day at work on an emergency. A customer had tried to blame Father for writing a program that could mangle his filesystem, and it took until lunch to convince the customer that it was his fault for running the program as root all the time. Anyway, I didn’t see Father until lunch, and when Mother went to fetch his plate, he shot me a knowing look. “I can’t figure out how you did it, Kitten, but I’ll give you points for being clever. I don’t know how you snuck out and got back in without making so much as a sound, but I won’t be beaten so easily. I’m watching you, Kitten. My computers are watching you. Modern technology makes anything possible, you know.”

I thought you wanted me to be sociable with people.

“A man must have priorities. The welfare of his daughter versus being outwitted by her? I think the choice is clear. Don’t forget—I can do anything with a keyboard and an Internet connection. If you choose to challenge me again, you’d best be prepared.”

And I think you should know that playing field isn’t exactly level. After lunch wrapped up, I went upstairs to work on some things, but I quickly grew bored of that. I called up Kyon. We talked about my dinner with Yuki and the look on my Father’s face when I’d called him the night before and he realized I hadn’t snuck out to Kyon’s after all. Apparently, it was priceless.

“But as much of a pain as it was having him barge in here so late,” said Kyon, “your father seemed unusually eager to find you. He wasn’t angry in the slightest. When my parents and sister were looking away, he’d wink at me. He said that if I were hiding you in the closet, he’d fully understand and leave us be.”

Fathers everywhere, make a note of this: you can encourage your daughter to have a healthy social life, but this is pushing it a little.

Kyon’s voice crackled a bit over the phone. “He even got to telling my parents stories. He wanted to get to know them and so on. He had a joke about trying to pick up a mathematician at a bar—”

“Oh no,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s told that one a thousand times—it’s the one where she gives him her number on the back side of a Möbius strip, right?”

“And then he spent twenty minutes explaining topology to my sister because she couldn’t pronounce _Möbius strip_ properly.”

Father, these are things middle-schoolers don’t really need to know yet!

“So you’re doing schoolwork?” asked Kyon.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“I’m just surprised is all,” he said. “There you are, with the power to search the spacetime continuum for any answers you need, and—”

“You want to give me ideas?” I asked him.

That flustered him a good bit, and I let it go. I mean, yeah, it’s not everyday you find out you have the power to change the universe, but what would any reasonable person do? You could make it so you don’t have to eat, but then what pleasure would you get from coming to a hot meal after a long day of work? You could make it so you don’t have to sleep, but then you’d never dream. I wasn’t interested in being inhuman.

“But I expect the SOS Brigade won’t keep quiet about these mysteries of the universe for too long,” said Kyon. “Believe it or not, people are still talking about a rainstorm that hit on a sunny day, even if not everyone’s willing to deem it truly fantastic in origin.”

That was a simple trick though. That was when I didn’t understand what I could do. It’d be trivial to throw a hundred different impossibilities at a person and make them unsure of what _not_ to believe. For that matter, Yuki, Koizumi-kun, and Mikuru-chan probably wouldn’t want to be outed as special people, either.

“And the brigade chief herself?” asked Kyon.

That was no small question. I’d thought about it before, of course. I’d imagined I might find something like a fragment of an alien spacecraft—say it was a piece of metal that would turn invisible if you passed a current through it or something simple like that. The five of us would go on television and demonstrate this amazing piece of technology with the promise of more mysteries unraveled thanks to the dogged enthusiasm of the SOS Brigade.

But this was different. Had I discovered a piece of phlebotinum, I wouldn’t have to explain how it worked or why. I could leave that to experts and scientists to puzzle out, but in the real world, the big mystery was me. These powers of mine—where did they come from? How did they come about? How silly would that be if I went on television to demonstrate my powers without having a clue how they came to be? I didn’t even know where to begin looking to find that answer.

“Nagato might know something,” Kyon suggested. “Though you have to be prepared for any explanation going so far over your head it reaches the moon.”

That’s right; Yuki did say something, didn’t she? About loops in time and quantum uncertainties and stuff. Maybe she was trying to tell me something that she otherwise couldn’t say? That her boss wouldn’t allow her to say?

But Yuki didn’t seem too happy with me. At least, that’s the impression I got over dinner.

“Nagato? There’s no way. She’s not the type to hold a grudge.”

That’s what Kyon said, and I took him at his word. I could only imagine that for the others—Yuki, Mikuru-chan, and Koizumi-kun in particular—this would be a bit of a stressful time. Yuki’s behavior just reflected that, right? Even aliens get stressed out sometimes. Otherwise, Yuki would never have stolen my powers in the first place.

Maybe what we all needed was a chance to get away for a bit.

“Huh?” asked Kyon. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s have the brigade get back to its roots,” I explained to him. “Let’s go searching for something mysterious.”

“A city search? By now, you know about everything paranormal in this city—or at least as much as I know about.”

That’s why I wasn’t thinking of a city-wide hunt or anything like that. The universe was so big and vast—why not look out there?

“What are you suggesting?”

Well, it was simple, really. I’d already been teleporting back and forth across town without too much effort. Why not go to another planet and see if there were aliens there?

“You want to do WHAT?”

Is there a problem with your hearing? Do I need to clean your ears?

“Where’s this coming from all of a sudden, Haruhi? You want to go to another planet?”

Well, who wouldn’t? What do you think would be the problem? I can’t hop across the galaxy faster than the speed of light?

“No, no, I’m sure you can do enough to make Professor Einstein roll over in his grave.”

He’d probably be the first to find this amazing, you know.

“I suppose.”

So let’s go.

“What? Right now?”

Yeah, right now. Can you think of a better adventure for the brigade?

He started muttering to himself. “Haruhi, you can’t plan a journey across the known universe in five minutes on a Sunday afternoon!”

“What, you’re busy?” I asked him.

“…I did want to work through the assignment on vectors.”

“That’s due tomorrow!”

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it.”

“Let me come over there, and we’ll finish it together!”

“After what just happened last night, that might not go over so well. Besides, it’s coming along fine. I’d like to see how far I can get on my own before asking for help, you know?”

“I could stop time for a bit or something, and we can be back just as soon as we leave,” I offered.

“That…would give me more time than other people have.” He hesitated. “That’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it? Forget that. It does sound interesting, Haruhi. I’m just not in the mindset to go gallivanting around the galaxy right now. A lot’s happened just in the last twenty-four hours. If anything, I wouldn’t mind having some extra time to sit on a beach and listen to the waves lapping up on shore.”

“We could do that instead, if you want,” I said.

“That’s not—that’s not what I meant. Let me finish this assignment, okay? Right now, I just want something simple off my mind is all. Is that all right?”

Well, of course it was. It was reasonable. I wasn’t going to hold that against him. There wasn’t a rush. I could just sit there, at my desk, staring at my textbooks and papers and waiting. It didn’t make a lot of difference to me. Why should it?

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later, Haruhi? I’m going to try to speed through this.”

“Don’t be careless,” I said, “or you’ll mangle a cross-product somewhere.”

“I won’t. Bye.”

My phone came back to life with its glowing white screen. Call ended indeed.

But I got back on the line. When Kyon was finished, it shouldn’t be just the two of us. Everybody should have a chance to see something amazing, and if Kyon was concerned about me breaking the laws of physics, I knew just who to call to help out with that.

“Mikuru-chan! Is that you?”

“Ah, Suzumiya-san! We weren’t supposed to meet today, were we? I’m sorry for forgetting; I—”

“Calm down; calm down.” I had to stifle a laugh. How adorable—that Mikuru-chan could be so panicky, even then, after telling me everything she could about herself. “There wasn’t any meeting planned,” I assured her. “You didn’t forget anything.”

“Oh, is that right? I’m so glad. I thought for a moment I must’ve forgotten. Ah, well, how are you today?”

“Fine, fine,” I said. “Listen, Mikuru-chan, you’re a time-traveler, right?”

“Ah, it might be best if you don’t say things like that on the phone. It could be troublesome for us later, and—”

“No problem, won’t happen again! But listen, to do that thing you do, you have to be able to go anywhere in the blink of an eye, right? I mean, even just to travel just a minute in the past—I mean, to do _that_ —you’d have to account for the Earth’s rotation and orbit and even the gravitational pull of the Great Attractor and other intergalactic objects like that, right?”

“Well, yes, the TPDD corrects for all those effects. Actually, the Great Attractor is really a classified—I mean, it’s not what you think it is in this time plane, but—”

“Okay, great! So if Kyon and I wanted to visit an alien planet, you could help us do that, right? Kyon was a bit wary of me trying to do that so quickly is all.”

“Eh? You want to go to an alien planet?”

“That’s right!”

She started whimpering. “But, but—Suzumiya-san, I can’t do that without permission from my superiors! I’d need to make a formal request.”

“Superiors? Kyon didn’t say anything about that.”

“He didn’t? That’s strange. Sometimes my superiors bypass me to speak directly to Kyon-kun about matters concerning you. They must think I’m incapable of getting the information across the way they want it. They keep a very close eye on you. Ah, I hope that doesn’t sound too peculiar.”

That stood to reason. I knew there was a whole organization of time-travelers in the future, but to think they’d watch Mikuru-chan (and me) so closely was a bit worrying. I’d have to meet these superiors of Mikuru-chan’s at some point, especially if they were going around her to talk to Kyon. Really, that’s almost like they weren’t giving her a chance to do her job!

“It’s fine,” I told her. “But surely, since your superiors are in the future, they already know you’ve made a request and should’ve responded by now?”

“Sometimes they don’t answer right away—ah, I mean, they don’t choose to send the answer until after it would’ve been needed. When that happens, I think they want me to make a decision myself.”

“So you’re free to do as you like, right?”

“Oh, no, there are still rules—I don’t know if a journey outside this solar system would even be permitted. I could get in big trouble if they mean I should just recheck the procedures for time jumps and—”

“But you do want to go, don’t you? Even if we can’t use your time-traveling ability to do it?”

“Going to another planet? Ah, I don’t know. It could be scary. I might have to check if that’s allowed, too….”

Of course. Mikuru-chan was an agent of people hundreds or thousands of years from the future. They wouldn’t have the same ideas about exploring or leisure time. Maybe they didn’t want someone like Mikuru-chan, with knowledge of the future, to betray that information to aliens who could use it against them or something.

“You know what?” I began. “Don’t worry about it, Mikuru-chan. When Kyon’s finished, I’ll call you back, and if you have permission by then or you’ve figured out if you can go, that’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course. Have a good afternoon, okay?”

“All right, I will! Goodbye, Suzumiya-san.”

I hung up. Really, there was no sense in worrying about what Mikuru-chan could or couldn’t do just yet. There were two others in the brigade to talk to.

“Hello? Koizumi-kun?”

“Ah, Suzumiya-san, good afternoon. It’s a pleasure to hear your voice on this lovely day.”

That’s Koizumi-kun for you—always pleasant, always jovial. He’d surely have no problem with a trip to the stars. “You too, Koizumi-kun,” I said. “Listen, Kyon and I were talking about doing something today, and I wanted to see if you were interested.”

“Oh dear, I’m afraid today has been a bit hectic in esper circles. What is it you wish?”

“I wanted to visit an alien planet, so we could all see something amazing that we’d never dreamed of.”

“My, that is very much like you, isn’t it—you’ve never shied away from dreaming bigger than anyone else. I would be delighted to go, Suzumiya-san, truly, but I’m concerned this matter within the Agency might have me distracted for some time.”

“What’s happened?”

“Our friend Mori-san has convinced herself she can no longer sense your emotional state or enter closed spaces,” he said. “She thinks she’s totally lost her powers. As you might imagine, we’d be very troubled if that were the case and must investigate this matter. Until we understand what’s happened to Mori-san to the fullest degree, I’m afraid I may be occupied. I’m dreadfully sorry.”

“Oh, well that’s nothing to worry about,” I said. “I can tell you right away what happened.”

“You can?”

“Of course. I took her powers away.”

The other end of the line went dead quiet.

“Koizumi-kun? Are you still there?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, yes, forgive me. I was a bit…surprised. You say you’re the one who stripped Mori-san of her power?”

“That’s right. She asked me to. I didn’t think it would be fair not to do as she asked.”

There was a prolonged silence. “Please forgive me, Suzumiya-san, but I must be excused.”

“Ah, Koizumi-kun, wait—”

The line cut out.

Well, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Mori-san’s esper friends might not have taken her liberation so well, right? So Koizumi-kun would be busy for a while. He would naturally be busy.

That only left Yuki, then. I called her up, and but for the lack of ringing, you’d never know she was on the other end.

“Hey, Yuki, it’s me.”

“…”

“Um, thanks for dinner yesterday. It was just what I needed to get Kyon out of that misunderstanding, too, so I’m sure he’s thankful, too.”

“I’m glad,” she said quietly.

“Listen, the two of us were thinking of visiting an alien world today. You could probably help out with that, right? Maybe you know of a couple?”

“Many.”

“Great! So I can count you in?”

“…”

“Is that a yes?”

“I will do what is asked of me.”

That wasn’t really the answer I had in mind. “It’ll be fun, right?”

“Most likely.”

“But you’d have fun coming with us to an alien planet, right?”

“…”

“Maybe you already have other plans?”

“…”

“A book?”

“Yes.”

Of course. Yuki liked books. Kyon had homework he wanted to get done for a change. Mikuru-chan would have to figure out if she were allowed. Koizumi-kun had problems with his esper people. They were all good reasons to be occupied. I mean, for Yuki, this world was just as alien to her as any other planet would be to me. It was all very reasonable, very understandable, and I told myself that over and over, staring at my schoolwork with nothing to do. I let those thoughts run through my mind like a mantra because there was another voice—a smooth voice, dangerous and insidious—trying to tell me something else.

“You may not think us at all alike,” the voice said, “but like you, we seek out mysteries we don’t understand. We embrace them and appreciate them. Are you so certain your friends feel the same?”

She was wrong. She was dead wrong. She didn’t know anything about humanity; she didn’t know anything about the brigade. They couldn’t be blamed for having other things to do. Maybe, if they knew how amazing it would be, they wouldn’t have acted so responsibly. That’s how people are, right? Most of the time, we do what we’re supposed to. It takes something truly special to get us to put aside reason and logic, to indulge in a grand adventure. All it would take was a tale of a planet far, far away, and next time, the brigade would be with me; I was sure of it! I just had to bring back that story, and the excitement in their eyes would be the proof.

I let Yuki go. She could tell me all about the book she was reading if she wanted to. That’d be fine—at least for her.

I tossed my notebooks aside. I opened the window and looked up, into the blue sky. It would’ve been easier at night, but I had a healthy imagination. I didn’t need to see the stars to know where I wanted to go. They shine even in daylight.

Once more, the room melted around me—this time to a smooth and even blackness, save for scattered pinpricks of starlight.

  


When I was younger, my parents sometimes took me to the public pool. Other kids liked to splash each other or throw inflatable balls around, but not me. I’d go to the deepest water, grab the ledge, and force myself to the pool floor, letting out every bubble of air from my lungs to stay there. Beneath the surface, the world was foreign and strange. The sunlight refracted through passing waves, forming patterns of lines. If the water were particularly cloudy, you couldn’t see more than a meter in any direction. The pressure weighed on you; it made your ears pop. In the summers, that was the closest I could come to visiting an alien world. I don’t know when we stopped going to that pool together, but I haven’t forgotten.

That’s why, when I opened my eyes to dusty ground and my ears popped, I knew I wasn’t in Japan anymore.

You might be thinking how that was possible—how could I wish myself somewhere and not know what the place was? I’m not sure how to describe it. It was like throwing a dart. You know the dart has to land somewhere—on double-eight or bullseye or half a meter to the side, lodged in the wall—but you don’t know where until it hits. Was it enough that I knew what I wanted: a planet teeming with alien life, that I could explore and tell tales about?

A dusty rock with a swirling, hazy yellow sky wasn’t quite what I’d had in mind. Just standing there, on my own two feet, I felt heavy. The air was pushing me down. My muscles strained to keep me on my feet. My heart beat faster, struggling to keep the blood moving through my veins. The sky was cloudy and billowing, and electrical arcs lit up the horizon.

That’s the essence of an alien world, isn’t it? You expect things to be different there. You expect that you can leap twenty meters like astronauts on the moon or be weighed down helplessly by the pull of nothing but ordinary rock. I felt that keenly. Even just lifting my arm against that pull was a chore, yet I relished the sensation. It convinced me that that place was really something totally unlike home, unlike anything that could happen on planet Earth. I took a loose scrap of notebook paper from my pocket and threw it out, into the air. It tumbled to the ground in an impossible downward arc. It crumpled and blackened, for the air itself ate at the paper and ink.

Yet there I was—safe and only mildly inconvenienced. Had I given myself the ability to breathe sulfur and nitrogen? Had I strengthened my bones to withstand ten times the compressive force that should shatter them? I didn’t know, and honestly, I didn’t need to. I enjoyed feeling stressed, seeing what this environment could do to ordinary, human materials, but I had bigger plans. I wiggled my fingers, and the sense of heaviness in them faded, for I willed it so. I had no problem with doing the impossible. Walking on an alien planet with no protection, no breathing apparatus or even a sunshade to block out harmful light? What of it?

I walked around, looking for features or signs of life. Maybe that was ungrateful. A planet isn’t worthless just because nothing lives there. Something _could_ come out of a local version of the primordial soup if it just had a few billion years to develop, after all. So, in no way did I think that planet dull and uninteresting just because I hadn’t found anything alive on it. I just expected that my own imagination, my own instincts, would take me to something even more unbelievable.

But what I found there was the rough, jagged surface of a yellow world, and I had to wonder—if anything _were_ alive in that place, just who would want to live on a rock like that one? With acid clouds flying overhead and enough heat to make a summer day on Okinawa seem frigid by comparison, you’d have to be crazy to want to stay there.

Then again, I guess an alien on Earth might view our world the same way: to them, it’d be painfully cold, and our atmosphere would be like little more than vacuum. Rain might make them melt or something strange like that, even if corrosive acid is totally fine. You can’t just go somewhere else and expect to live the same way—to eat the same food or drink the same water (or whatever other liquid they might need).

I guess that’s why, looking around, I saw what seemed to be barren wasteland, but looks were deceiving. Beneath a fine, sandy layer of dirt was nothing but hard, dark stone. Nothing I know of on Earth can live in solid rock—nothing of consequence, anyway—but there, little slug-like things popped in and out of the rock face, burrowing through it like it was as soft as mud. Maybe they ate the rock directly? If so, the whole planet could be teeming with billions upon billions of creatures living beneath the surface, never having to deal with the crappy acid rain above ground, but they couldn’t be all. I felt that in my heart.

I felt it on my face, too, for a dark, crisp shadow passed over me. Up above, a massive creature soared. It was broader than it was long, with great, featherless wings. It looked more like a manta ray than a bird. It didn’t have a spiky tail or anything like that, and it was flying. It must’ve been as long as a soccer field, and everything in its shadow was colder. I didn’t see much beyond its scaly underbelly, and when it passed by, it flapped its wings mightily, creating a gust that kicked up dirt all around. It flew upward, into the clouds and out of sight, but it left something behind: a colossal roar, a mix between a growl and a screech, covering every frequency I could hear. It left me shaking a little bit with each step. What if another one came by and was looking to eat some lone alien that was wandering through its territory?

I was shaking a little bit, yeah, but you’d be crazy if you didn’t look up in awe anyway, regardless of what anxiety or fear you might feel. It was an alien planet with creatures you couldn’t possibly understand. Tell me that’s not amazing.

Anyway, that manta ray creature made me realize something: there could be a whole lot going on above those clouds without me knowing it. And naturally, I hadn’t come to slink about on the ground, drawing no attention to myself. If all I attracted were beasts, so be it. I figured I’d send a signal, a message—something unmistakable that any creature up there, in the acid clouds, would realize didn’t belong.

It appeared in the sky above me—an emblem, a logo, the symbol of the brigade. The clouds rippled, and a myriad of creatures fled from it, crying and shrieking. Something unnatural had appeared in the air, after all. They saw it. They heard it. They felt its coming, so just as you’d expect, most of them fled. Any dumb animal would.

Something intelligent, though, might stay back until the commotion died down, and then, only then, would it swoop in and investigate what could’ve caused such an unusual sight.

There was a quick _chop-chop-chop_ sound. A creature descended from the haze above me. I hardly recognized it as having flesh—as being an animal of sorts instead of a machine. It had four rotary wings—two spun clockwise and the other two against it, like a helicopter’s. It hovered above me like a drone. I didn’t see eyes or a face or anything like that, but it had four clawed legs dangling from its main body, like a mosquito’s. Its center wasn’t aerodynamic by any stretch of the word. Instead, it was rounded, about the size of a big beach ball. If it had eyes to see me with, I couldn’t make them out. Maybe the center bulge was just a big compound eye?

_Click-click._

Where did that come from? Did it rub ts wings together like a grasshopper? No, it was flying. That wouldn’t make any sense.

_Click-click-click._

That sound—what did it mean? Maybe the creature was looking at me with sounds, like a whale or a dolphin? They say dolphins are intelligent.

I tried something simple. I clapped my hands once and waited. Then four times, then nine more. Any being with an understanding of science and mathematics would know the significance of that sequence—it’s how fast the force from a charged object falls off with distance, how the short sides of a right triangle add to get the longer hypotenuse. Something so fundamental as that couldn’t go unnoticed, even by the alien equivalent of Neanderthals, right?

_Click…click-click._

Right. That always works too easily on television, anyway. It was time to work a little magic. “How about now?” I called to the creature. “Do you understand me?”

The four rotors above it slowed. It came down, closer to me but still straight overhead. Its legs dangled just half a meter above. I felt the hot wind from its rotors across my face. It made those clicking noises again, yet immediately, I understood.

 _What are you?_ That’s what it asked me.

“I’m Suzumiya Haruhi, Chief of the SOS Brigade and the first human you’ve ever met, so you should be excited. You’re excited, right? If not, I’ll be very disappointed in you, your people, and your planet!”

 _What does that_ mean _?_

I guessed this one was a bit slow. “Come down to the ground, won’t you? I’m having to crane my neck just to look at you.”

It moved off to the side—I guess it didn’t recognize where my face was—and descended gingerly to the ground. The rotors never stopped completely; they just turned at a leisurely, slow pace. Its legs looked so stubby—maybe it needed to do that just to be able to stand and walk? When it was on the ground, it tilted its bottom toward me.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

_I am the one who digs at the root of the purple mold stalk that twitches at first sunrise and second—_

“Wait, wait, hold on. That’s all part of your name?”

_I wasn’t finished._

“That won’t do at all. Maybe it works in your clicking language, but I’ll need something more succinct than that, just for my sanity. Your name is Rooter.”

_That isn’t my name._

“I’m calling you _Rooter_ , so that’s your name. There are more of you, aren’t there?”

 _…yes._ Rooter straighted up, his rotors spinning up. _I don’t have time to waste chatting with an impossible creature._

“I’m not impossible. You know what I am? I came from above the clouds you see there. Go high enough, and it’s black up there, and all you can see are tiny spots of light in the darkness. Go to one of those points, and that’s where I’m from. It’s a rock not too different from the one beneath you here. Do you know how far away that is? You could fly from here to the horizon until dark and it wouldn’t be even a millionth of that journey. I’ve come all this way to meet creatures like you. If you don’t have time for that, fine. There are lots of planets in the universe.”

The four rotors buzzed, and Rooter took to the air, hovering straight overhead once more.

_How could you make such a journey? How is it understand each other?_

I spotted a rock on the ground. In my mind, it levitated, spinning, and did flips end-over-end. And by now, you should know. What I see in my mind can become reality. Rooter saw it, too.

_Are all creatures beyond the sky so powerful?_

“Not many. Maybe just me. Name a feat, and I might show it to you.”

_You can fly?_

“Teleportation, flying, what’s the difference?”

_You can heal the sick?_

“Sick? Who’s sick? Another one of you? Someone you know?”

Rooter turned toward the two bright spots in the sky. _By the canyon halfway between the suns—that is where we sleep and where the sick lay._

“So it’s some people in your ‘village,’ then, who are in trouble?”

_No._

I frowned.

_All of them._

  


The “Sickness” made a Piggy’s wings grow thin and weak. A Piggy couldn’t fly for long when afflicted and thus would be vulnerable. One or two Piggies with the Sickness could be taken care of and fed from a community store, but Rooter said that almost half of his clan had come down with the Sickness, and soon, if nothing changed, their stores would run out. For the Piggies, that would be real trouble.

Naturally they don’t really call themselves Piggies. When I asked Rooter about names, he seemed puzzled—apparently his long-winded spiel from before wasn’t just to play with me. For the whole of the Piggy race, it started off like, “The creatures who walk while spinning, lifting themselves with the first thermal after second sunrise…” Well, you get the idea. It kind of goes on longer. A lot longer. Rooter’s name was no exception, but eventually he got used what I’d call him instead. You like it, don’t you, Rooter?

_No._

Rooter flew up from my side, hovering overhead. I think its the Piggy equivalent of looking directly at someone. Maybe their eyes (or whatever they have) are focused to look straight down most easily, so they can forage or hunt or whatever they do, and that’s fine. Different species are different, after all, as long as they don’t try anything funny. You’re not going to try to turn me into a Mothertree or something, are you, Rooter?

_We have nothing like those here._

Well, we don’t have them on Earth, either.

_Then why would you expect to be turned into this ‘tree’?_

It’s from a book, Rooter. Let me find a way to get it to you in a way that this planet won’t incinerate, and then you’ll understand.

_In our clan, we don’t record stories. We tell them directly, so the meaning isn’t forgotten. Some of the other clans have tried to share such a technique with us, though._

And? What happened then?

_They wanted a rock beetle in exchange._

What’s a _rock beetle_ mean around here?

_What is a tree?_

Rooter, if you keep that up, I’m going to have to call you _Kyon_ instead. You’re far too clever.

He didn’t reply. Actually, I don’t know if Rooter’s a _he_ , either, but that’s a question for another time. I don’t sleep with aliens on the first date. After all, you have to establish there are compatible pieces first.

It was a thirty-minute hike to Rooter’s village, up steep slopes where no paths had been cleared. I offered to teleport us right away, but Rooter thought that was tantamount to voodoo; the idea of just winking in and out of existence on a whim mystified him to no end. I didn’t mind walking. I saw a lot, even if it was a bit difficult. Rooter’s people had no need to traverse most of this route on foot, after all, so we had to improvise and find a way for me to follow him. Where the terrain or rock formations were unhelpful, I blasted a way through instead. Rooter was a little disdainful at first, calling me reckless for impacting the local geology (xenology?) so easily, but he couldn’t be too harsh about it. If I had the power to reshape the land and ground, I could help him, too.

When we reached the top of a crag overlooking Rooter’s village, I knew they needed all the help they could get. The Piggies made their homes in the rock face, carving them out with distilled acid to accelerate a weathering process of thousands of years to minutes or hours. Outside their nests, they flew wherever they needed to go. Hundreds of them buzzed about the village, which they’d carved from a canyon and populated. It was no place for a human to go. The best I could do was sit from above and watch them, and in that, I saw clearly. There was a nest near the top, just below us. Rooter held my legs as I leaned over, into the gorge. The sick had piled up. Their wings had turned thin and green, shrinking into their bodies for protection. Other Piggies flew to them and offered something—the rock-encrusted corpse of something vaguely between a dog and a snake—but the sickest of the lot wouldn’t even look at it.

Rooter had one of his relatives carried and flown to the top of the canyon—his third mother’s second half-cousin twice removed from two previous matings or something like that. They presented the sleeping Piggy to me, its rotary wings tucked at its sides, and I knelt beside him. There we were, on a planet far from Earth with an alien creature lying at my feet, all its family hoping I could cure it. I don’t know even that much about human medicine; these Piggies could have six hearts and two mouths and God knows what else. I’ve never believed in being held back by anything so inconvenient as the one and only truth, though. Experience tells me there’s always much more to the world than that. Who cared if I didn’t know anything about xenobiology? Who really thinks that makes a difference to what I can do? Not Asakura. Not Rooter and his Piggy clan.

Not me, either. Should I snap my fingers and make what I want reality? Should I wave my hand instead or mumble an incantation? No, that’d all be artificial. Flair and presentation mean nothing. It’s the thought that counts. I thought long and hard. I saw, in my mind, the sick Piggy’s wings spinning up and lifting him off the ground again, and as far as I knew, it was so.

I stood up. “He’s all better now, Rooter,” I said. “He’s all better if I have anything to do with it. They all are.”

 _How can you know this?_ asked Rooter.

I know because I’m Suzumiya Haruhi, and I hold to my word.

I know because your brothers and sisters and cousins—all those who you fed because they couldn’t feed themselves—are flying to meet us already.

They came out of the canyon, buzzing and swarming. They soared above me like fighter jets in formation. There were so many they blotted out the yellow sky, and when every last one had left the canyon, they made a droning sound, a mass of _click-click_ noises in unison so intense I covered my ears just to keep it out. I was puzzled for a moment; why couldn’t I understand them any longer? Rooter and I could speak just fine.

 _They’re not speaking to you,_ he said.

Then what are they doing?

Rooter took flight, hovering over me like he did before, and joined in the cacophonic display. That’s when I understood.

_They’re thanking you._

  


I stayed with the Piggies for the rest of the day. From the top of the canyon, I watched the first sun set with them, draping the world in twilight. I joined them for a hunt of lava creatures that lived by a volcano. We took shelter from an acid rainstorm, and afterward, we journeyed to the canyon bottom, where they extracted acid from a great collection mechanism—a machine maintained with their own claws as they hovered precisely over it.

But in the end, I couldn’t stay forever. As the second sun went low to the horizon, the Piggies retired for the day. I bade good night to Rooter, not knowing how much longer I’d stay or when I’d be back. I _would_ have to go home after all, eventually. And maybe it’s the Piggy way—I didn’t get a strong sense of fondness or awe from him, even when the others of his clan swarmed over me and begged me to know what Earth was like. That’s fine, though. With the last ray of light from the second sun, Rooter just twitched his wings and said farewell. I didn’t mind. I don’t like to be thanked so much. Just don’t be surprised, Rooter, if you wake up tomorrow morning and find yourself able to move small pebbles with a single thought, for instance. That can be a parting gift of mine, something you’ll want to keep and use long after this Sickness has been forgotten. Such ability is something best shared, don’t you think?

I blinked my eyes, and I was lighter, cooler. Even having steeled myself against the intense heat and pressure, I felt the difference in coming back home. I went straight to my bedroom, making my shoes disappear into the closet downstairs. I took my phone from the desk and lay back in bed, exhausted but thrilled. The others were going to love this story. They’d be excited and anxious and wonder when we could go together, when we’d go next or where. I was going to tell them, so they’d know what happened, what they’d missed.

I opened the phone, but there was a message waiting for me.

“Haruhi, it’s me. I wrapped up the assignment just a minute ago. I thought you’d want to know. If you’re still planning on—ah, how should I say it? If you’re still planning on taking a ‘trip’ today, let me know. I don’t have any breathing gear or stuff like that, but I’ll bring a flashlight. It can be dark sometimes out in space, yeah? I guess that’s a start.”

I looked at the screen. A quarter past three—what was I doing then? Hiking across that yellow planet? Healing the sick or taking shelter from the storms?

“…anyway, give me a call, okay? Bye.”

It was quiet, and I lay back in bed, perfectly still.

There were no other messages, and I was a bit relieved at that. If there had been more, I don’t know what I would’ve done. Hearing Kyon talk about those plans—our plans…I couldn’t take it. It was like seeing a photograph of myself in high-resolution, a perfect level of detail so that every flaw and blemish could be revealed in full, ugly glory.

I’d done something terrible that day. I’d listened to Asakura, even if only for a moment, but I couldn’t lay the blame solely on her. I was the one who doubted them—my friends, the brigade. I let her sway me. No amount of world-changing power could keep her poisonous words out of my mind.

Not if I chose to let them in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Möbius strip can be imagined as a simple ring or band of material that is cut and twisted to join the outside and inside faces together, essentially making the object a single continuous surface. For this reason, it has no outside or onside. A related object is the Klein bottle.
> 
> The Dōton Canal, or _Dōtonbori_ , is a shopping district in the city of Ōsaka. The Hanshin Tigers were long thought to have suffered a curse (similar to the Red Sox’s Curse of the Bambino or the Cubs’ Curse of the Billy Goat) when a group of fans, in their excitement over a Tigers win, stole a statue of the Colonel from a Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant there and threw it into the canal. The statue has since been recovered, though the KFC it belonged to is now gone.
> 
> The Great Attractor is a gravtational anomaly which the Milky Way was thought to be traveling toward. Modern theories suggest instead that our galaxy is being pulled upon most strongly by the “Shapely Supercluster,” a collection of galaxies bound together against the expansion of the universe, which lies int he same direction of the Great Attractor—or, confusingly, that it’s the _real_ Great Attractor physicists were always looking for.
> 
> In an attempt to ascertain Rooter’s intelligence, Haruhi claps the first three perfect squares: 1*1=1, 2*2=4, 3*3=9.
> 
> My thanks to Arakawa Seijio for assisting in the revision of this chapter.


	8. The Time Traveler

### Chapter Seven

##### 

It’s probably not flattering for me to say this, but it’s not often I’ve felt real shame. Part of that comes from my outlook on life. There are lots of things people say you shouldn’t do that I’ve never understood. When I was five, I told my mother’s writing circle friends all about where babies come from, since Father didn’t have the patience to make up an elaborate lie about swallowing watermelon seeds or anything like that. Mother never held writing circle meetings at our house again, but she was the one embarrassed by the incident. It never bothered me personally.

That logic doesn’t apply to everything, though. There are times when your actions can wound other people, and if they’re in no position to complain, someone else will on their behalf. I know that well. It’s happened to me before.

You see, I once did something so terrible, Kyon would’ve punched me in the face if he hadn’t been restrained.

Actually, I’d be surprised if that were the only time he felt that way. It’s frightening how you can be so blind to the things you do and why, how you don’t realize how someone else really sees you until you do something to push him to his limit. When you do, it all comes out so fast, in a fashion beyond anyone’s control. Those feelings don’t just come into being spontaneously, right? They build and build over time. When someone you trust feels there’s no choice but to strike you to make you listen—even when that’s only said or done in the heat of the moment—you know you’ve been doing something wrong. Or you should. If you don’t, then you’re just willfully blind.

I wanted to make this movie, right? I wanted to make a movie that wasn’t like other movies. I cast Mikuru-chan as a battle waitress from the future, who by day masquerades as a bunny girl at the shopping arcade. I set her up with Koizumi-kun as a couple in the movie, and to shoot a steamy scene between them, I had Tsuruya-san—whose house we were using—spike Mikuru-chan’s drink with tequila. That much only made Kyon, who was filming, step out from behind the camera and put a stop to my plan. If I’d let it go at that point, I could’ve come out with at least a hint of dignity or a shred of gained wisdom, but I didn’t. I noticed Mikuru-chan still had this colored contact in from earlier, and I thought the best way to get it out would be to have it pop from her eye…

By hitting her on the back of her head with a megaphone.

For all that, Kyon was incredibly restrained at first. He caught my arm and stopped me. He stated flatly how stupid it was, that Mikuru-chan wasn’t my toy to play with.

And I stubbornly declared that she _was_.

I don’t know what was more surreal about that moment—that I expected him to back down then or that Koizumi-kun caught Kyon’s balled fist before he could strike me.

I could’ve taken it better. No, actually, let’s not sugarcoat it: I didn’t take it well at all. I’d seldom seen Kyon angry—never to the point of violence, at least—but Mikuru-chan begged us not to fight. If she hadn’t, I’m sure I would’ve done something colossally stupid—well, even more than I’d already done. I was still steamed when I got home that evening, and I thought I’d prove, somehow, that I was the one being reasonable, that because contacts really do fall out of your eyes if you’re hit or jarred, somehow everything I’d done was right! And they _could_ fall out like that!

When they were made of plexiglass.

Slowly, I started to reconsider, started to doubt. It wasn’t a quick process; I was still stubborn and thick in the worst ways, after all. If I could be wrong about something so simple, I should take a hard look at everything, right? When I dressed Mikuru-chan in those outfits, was I thinking of how she’d look on camera, or was I thinking of how the cameraman was watching her instead? When I put her in a room with Koizumi-kun and demanded that they kiss, did I do that for the sake of a movie? Or to needle the guy who wouldn’t be in the scene? That’s not the fault of love or attraction, either. When he said Mikuru-chan wasn’t my toy to play with, why did I push back? Because _he_ challenged my authority? Or because I thought that meant he wanted her for himself?

That’s what I’ve never let myself forget. Everyone in the brigade knows what I did that to Mikuru-chan that day—how I struck her, how I abused her. What they don’t know, what I never had the courage to tell them, was how I turned our whole movie into a sham, an excuse to humiliate Mikuru-chan in front of Kyon. Just realizing that made me feel sick inside, but that wasn’t the end of it. Kyon must’ve realized what I was doing, too, and if he’d been angry enough to strike me, he surely had no reason to stick around.

So I went to school the next day, and I steeled myself. I deserved whatever Kyon had to say to me. That much I wouldn’t argue, but Kyon had my heart and the fate of the brigade in his hands. He could’ve easily crushed them both and said they were bad or ill-conceived. Much better to start over, to wipe away those horrors and begin anew.

When Kyon found me in the club room at lunch that day, I thought he’d say he was leaving the brigade, that it’d be the last time we spoke as friends. Instead, he told me the last thing I expected to hear.

  


Kyon forgave me that day. He forgave me when he didn’t have to. Like I said, I expected the worst—the harshest condemnation, the most intense rebuke. Every so often, I’d play through that conversation the way I thought it would happen, as a reminder that no friendship is totally solid.

Especially if you give the other party every reason to break it.

All in all, the movie turned out all right. At least, that’s what I’d thought before I learned I started making a cat speak like a philosopher. That’s a story in itself; it’s not important. I’d like to say I learned my lesson from that time, but if I truly had, I wouldn’t have doubted a friend for even an instant. And I knew that, too.

That’s why, the morning after my trip across the galaxy, I was slow to get out of bed. I didn’t need to walk to school, and the last thing I wanted to do was to get there early and face _his_ questions unprepared. What happened to me? Why didn’t I call? How could I think he didn’t want to go when he said he did? Each question would be like a knife to the heart that I couldn’t take, couldn’t justify, so I delayed. I stalled. At breakfast, I mulled over every grain of rice like I’d choke if I didn’t. In the end, Mother rushed me out the door with her so she could get going, too, but I made it a point to drag my feet, to look at my phone as the minutes ticked by until, at last, I could dally no longer. I wished myself to my shoe locker, changed my footwear, and was outside our classroom in another blink of an eye.

“Yo,” said Kyon, waving at me as I reached my seat. “Cutting it a bit thin today?”

I gave a slight, hurried nod, and he frowned at that.

“Haru—”

The class rep’s booming voice cut Kyon off. “Stand!”

As our teacher walked in, Kyon watched me out of the corner of his eye, saying nothing.

  


All through the morning, I kept waiting for him to say something. Maybe he’d mutter a question obliquely, not even turning around to gauge my reaction. It’s hard to tell what someone’s thinking just by looking at the back of their head. Sometimes, he twirled his pencil like he was bored, or he leaned back sloppily, indifferent to proper posture or drawing the teacher’s attention. And I was so fixated on Kyon, on his every twitch and breath, I hardly remembered to take notes at all.

When I could ease off my guard, I thought frantically for something to say that would defuse the situation. Maybe I just thought he was being polite before—saying he had homework he wanted to do. No, no, I couldn’t say that. That was still blaming him, making it sound like he was vague when he wasn’t. I could say I was impatient, and that would be true…

Yeah, right. Saying something that’s only a bit more true than false is worthless.

So distracted by these thoughts, I was just zoned out until lunchtime, when there was a knock on the corner of my desk.

“Aren’t you going to eat something?” asked Kyon.

Food, huh? I hadn’t thought about that. Isn’t there something else you want to ask?

He blinked. “Ah, no?”

“About yesterday?” I clarified.

“What about it?”

I shifted in my seat. He was really going to make me come out with it all by myself, wasn’t he. Once again, Kyon knew just how to make me uncomfortable, and I’d have been hard-pressed to say I didn’t deserve it. “I got your call,” I said.

“Oh, you did?”

“Yeah. I guess I thought you’d be wondering about that.”

“I figured if you didn’t call back it meant you changed your mind about going.”

Oh. I changed my mind. I guess that’s what most people would think, isn’t it?

“You went ahead with the others?”

“I went by myself,” I told him. “There’s no good reason for it. I thought something that was stupid. That’s all.”

“ ‘That’s all’? I don’t understand. Explain it to me.”

Fuck me, he wasn’t going to let me get away easy. Well, I could hardly blame him. Were I in his place, I wouldn’t let me get away with no explanation, either. “I thought, after we talked, you might not really want to go. None of the others could, either, so I went, thinking I’d bring back some exciting story. Then I got home, heard your message, and…well, I’m sorry. I put words in your mouth, and that isn’t right.”

Kyon frowned, watching me for a minute in uncomfortable silence. I didn’t mumble, did I? “Hey.” I tapped the desk with my pencil. “Are you listening?”

“Hm? Ah, no, that’s—well, even a brigade chief makes mistakes once in a while, right? As long as she admits them and works to improve herself, I see no reason to hold a grudge. Consider that the humble opinion of the lowly peon of the brigade.”

I let out a breath in relief. His studies still needed some work, but Kyon could be really eloquent when he wanted to be. “You know,” I said, “you could be due a promotion if you keep saying things like that.”

“The last thing I’d want is a new position based solely on my personal relationship with the brigade chief.”

You’re saying we have a personal relationship?

There was the sound of scattered snickering in the classroom, and Kyon turned around to glare at the offenders. “Well,” he muttered, “the way we’re whispering, it seems like our classmates surely think so.”

“That’s what that faraway look before was about?” I asked.

“Hm? Oh, no, I was thinking of Koizumi.”

Oh _really_.

“Wipe that wise look off your face,” he said quickly. “I just realized, when you said you’d gone—that could be why Koizumi seemed so anxious this morning.”

I frowned. “Koizumi-kun was here?”

“Yeah, he was going crazy trying to find you. Wouldn’t say what it was about, though. It took me telling him three times I didn’t know where you were or when you’d get here before he finally took the hint. I guess something must’ve happened with his Agency?”

The Agency of espers. That’s right—when I’d called Koizumi-kun, he was concerned about Mori-san. When I told him I was the one who took Mori-san’s powers away, he couldn’t say anything at all.

I bolted from my seat.

“Hey, Haruhi!”

Though he forgave me again, I’d already let Kyon down. How else could I describe it? In listening to Asakura, I let my faith in him waver. If I’d caused trouble for Koizumi-kun, too—well, there was no sense in worrying about _if_ s and _maybe_ s. I had to know for sure.

I dashed through the hall, weaving through a group of kids on their way outside. I ducked my head into Koizumi-kun’s classroom, but the faces inside were foreign to me. “Hey!” I cried. “Koizumi Itsuki-kun—where is he?”

One of the boys pointed to the ceiling. “Had a phone call as soon as class ended. Looked like he was headed to the roof.”

The roof—a place of privacy. That was like Koizumi-kun, wasn’t it? The Agency was a secret thing, after all. For esper matters, he’d have to go somewhere secluded to feel like he could speak freely. I stepped outside the classroom, but I didn’t need the hassle of finding stairs. I wished myself into sunlight, and frankly, I didn’t care if anyone saw. The rooftop was a bit breezy, making the summer heat easier to bear.

And by the eastern face of the building stood Koizumi-kun, his phone glued to his ear.

“I know; I understand. No, I can’t explain why our surveillance broke down. Knowing her, there needn’t _be_ an explanation. You should—”

“Koizumi-kun.”

He jerked. He glanced over his shoulder, putting a hand to the phone so no one would hear on the other end. “My,” he said. “I guess this should be expected. Even so, you never fail to surprise us, Suzumiya-san. These past few days should be ample evidence of that.”

“What’s going on?” I asked him. “Kyon said you’d been looking for me. Something wrong with your Agency?”

“Yes, indeed,” he said, closing the phone. “You might say that. Suzumiya-san, the espers are in disarray. Why did you do it? How could you, so suddenly, so rashly, liberate Mori-san like this?”

That was the problem? Mori-san being free?

“She asked me to,” I explained. “She told me how unhappy she was, and I believed her. I couldn’t refuse her like that.”

Koizumi-kun shook his head, wincing like I’d given him a headache. “With respect, I don’t think you understand. Mori-san isn’t the only one who’s wished for relief from these powers. There are others. I’ve kept this revelation quiet as best I can, but already, many within the Agency have begun to suspect the truth. Please, Suzumiya-san. You must undo this. With only Mori-san lost, we can cope, but if others come to demand liberation, how can we carry out our duties? How can we guarantee a turn of your emotions won’t threaten the continued existence of this world?”

Those were really good questions. When Mori-san and I talked that night, I was just trying to do right, but Koizumi-kun had a point: there was a much bigger picture to consider. It wouldn’t be fair to give Mori-san an opportunity and deny it to everyone else.

“That shouldn’t fall to you,” I said. “I don’t know why I made all of you espers. Maybe I thought it would be fun, but making sure I don’t get carried away? That’s all on me, and I can do that, right? I’m Suzumiya Haruhi. I don’t believe for a second there’s something I can’t do. So if there are other espers who want out, tell them what I’ve said. What I did for Mori-san isn’t just for her. I still think it must be interesting, being an esper, but if there are people who don’t want to be one anymore, I won’t refuse them. That’s the least I can owe all of you.”

“That won’t do at all!”

His words were like a shockwave pushing me back. I’d never heard such a forceful statement from Koizumi-kun.

“What about the others?” he cried. “What about those who choose to stay espers? What will you do for them? These four years, they’ve only ever done what you asked of them. Even if you ask others to be espers, they at least will have had a choice. What about the rest of us?”

I couldn’t even really look at him. My heart started pounding fast in my chest. “I—I’m giving you all a choice now. I don’t know what else to do.”

“ _After_ you freed Mori-san? After she did something so heinous? I only ever tried to make you happy, to keep you entertained. She wounded you, Suzumiya-san! How could you forgive her so easily?”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand. Koizumi-kun—”

“How could you free her—how could you offer her liberation instead of me?”

Koizumi-kun didn’t want to be an esper?

Koizumi-kun resented me for offering Mori-san freedom before him?

He shuddered, looking about with a panicked expression. “Forgive me. That’s not what I meant to say. Please, disregard that—”

“Too late,” I said. “You can’t put the cat back in the bag once it’s out.”

“No, no,” he said with a sigh. “I suppose not.”

“Koizumi-kun, I can, if you want…”

“I must refuse.”

“Refuse? But why?”

He looked out, beyond the school grounds, admiring the horizon. “That’s a good question. Don’t misunderstand me; when I first gained this power, I was confused. Lost. I didn’t understand how I could be chosen for this task. I tried to deny it, but knowing the turmoil in your mind, the link I felt to your emotions became too strong to ignore. I was a different person then, and that boy I can no longer be.

“When I came here, to North High, I hardly expected to become part of your club. In truth, it has been a most pleasant surprise. I’ve had the luxury of an active role, the chance to witness spectacular happenings that, even after gaining my abilities, I never would’ve imagined. For that opportunity, I am thankful. For the chance to meet you and become a part of this brigade, I cannot show enough gratitude. Were you to strip me of my powers, I don’t know if I would still belong here. I don’t know how _he_ does it, but then, he’s always had your ear. More importantly, my identity is that of an esper now. I can’t conceive of how I could go back. Someone must man the watchtower, holding a beacon to the darkness. Even if I’m the only one left to keep the torch burning, I feel it is something I must do. Even then, the prospect doesn’t sound too unappealing. It is the way things must be.”

He met my gaze. He walked up to me, planted both feet next to each other, and bowed until he was half bent over. “My greatest thanks for this opportunity, Suzumiya-san. Without you, none of this would’ve been possible.”

  


It’s a funny feeling—being thanked for something you never knew you did, for something the other person never knew they wanted. Not for a minute did I think Koizumi-kun had lied to me. In fact, given the look of shock and surprise on his face when he asked me why I neglected him, why I freed Mori-san first, I felt that was the truest thing I’d ever heard him say. Koizumi-kun had always exuded a collected air. It was that unflappable calm I’d always mistaken for measured enthusiasm and support, but the truth is more complicated than that. It usually is.

When I left Koizumi-kun on the roof, he said he’d pass along my offer to the Agency. It was the fair thing to do, after all, and if no one but he wished to stay an esper, protecting the world from my thoughts, he’d willingly do it. I hounded him and hounded him, of course. How could he tell me these things and not expect me to ask questions? I wanted to know—if the Koizumi-kun I’d known for over a year was in some ways an act, I wanted to know him for real. He smiled at that and said, “That person will take time to become acquainted with, for he, in turn, will have to learn how to be himself. When the brigade meets this afternoon, would you set up a game of Go?”

If it’s not too impolite, Koizumi-kun, whenever you and Kyon play a game, he has his way with you and your family for three generations hence.

“That _is_ the case, isn’t it.” He chuckled. “Perhaps this time will be different. Indeed, if we knew for certain the outcome of every event, why would we do anything at all?”

A valid question, but one best put to someone else. To date, I hadn’t peered into the future to glimpse the myriad possibilities of time. To me, the kind of person who’d do that wouldn’t be interested in living in the present. It’d be like skipping ahead to the end of a book, reading the final page, and trying to draw conclusions without experiencing everything between. What would be the point?

I didn’t know anyone who’d jumped a few centuries to the future, of course, but there was someone close by who’d come from there instead. With her, you’d have to turn the metaphor around—if you’d read a book long ago, you might remember the ending most clearly, but what if you wanted to reread the story and found it different from what you thought? Maybe the demon lord killed the heroine instead of being destroyed by her ultimate spell. I can imagine a little kid might find that troubling, but this isn’t high fantasy or anything like that. The real world isn’t a book you can edit freely and send back to the printing press when you’re done.

To change things, you have to stick around in the first few pages—maybe for a chapter or two—until your work is done.

That’s what I’d heard anyway. We’d had a long talk about all that—time travel, the reasons for it, the mechanics of it (as much as Mikuru-chan could say). I like the idea of a book much better than a cartoon or animation, actually. People notice still frames that are stuck in when they don’t belong. A cute third-year time-traveler girl can’t just come and go without being noticed, being felt.

Or being missed. Of course, time doesn’t work that way. A time-traveler can return home before she ever left, having lived a lifetime while her friends and loved ones haven’t aged a day. Then they wouldn’t have time to forget how she was. She could become a completely different person while she was gone and not know how to live in the time she’d come back to. The person she’d have grown up to become would irrevocably change, just as my gift to Koizumi-kun changed him. He thanked me for it; he hated me for it. I’d been painfully naÏve. I thought after that night at the stadium, after learning the truth, everything would just be better and more amazing, but for the brigade, the stress of being around me, being my keepers, was only just starting to come out.

You see, I wanted to believe Koizumi-kun. I didn’t think he lied to me, but as Mori-san had done for so long, he could’ve easily lied to himself. I wanted to think he genuinely wished to stay an esper like he said, and what he felt when I offered freedom to Mori-san first was just a sense of betrayal, but I couldn’t convince myself of that. The eagerness in his eyes told me the truth—by making him an esper, I’d taken something from him. Even if I relieved him of that burden, there was no guarantee he’d ever have the opportunities he lost. Staying an esper so he could still do some good was a rational, smart decision.

It was a decision of the brain over the heart.

Were the others the same? No, I immediately rejected that. Kyon, I knew, had said he wanted to be here. His call the night before reaffirmed that. I wouldn’t doubt him again. Yuki? She was hard to read, inscrutable even. She said so little when I had dinner with her, and I felt like I was already pressing really hard to do that.

That just left Mikuru-chan. I asked her to drop by the club room when she finished her lunch. Yuki, who’d taken solace there to read, was kind enough to step out, leaving me alone to consider the situation, to think about what I wanted to say.

If anyone felt compelled to be around me, whether she wanted to or not, I thought it would be Mikuru-chan. What I did to her with the movie doesn’t even begin to cover it. When I was forming the brigade, I went around looking for interesting people, and I sized her up right away—a timid, adorable second-year girl who would take my orders to heart. I thought it was just part of her personality, that she didn’t argue or resist because, ultimately, what I told her to do did suit her—or at least, she didn’t mind too much.

But that was before. That was before I knew she was a time-traveler from the future, that she was bound by her mission to stay here and watch me, that she would hardly resist me unless, unless…

Honestly, I didn’t know how bad things would have to be before she’d say _no_ to me and stand her ground to do it.

Except when it came to information about her life and future. For that, she could find the will to say nothing because she’d been trained to do so, whether she wanted to or not.

When the soft knock sounded from the door, I knew where to start. “Come in!”

“Um, hello?” Mikuru-chan nudged the door open with just the tip of her finger. “Suzumiya-san, you asked for me?”

“Yeah, please, take a seat. Close the door, won’t you?”

Her eyes widened. “But, but, class is starting soon! You want to dress me now?”

Dress her? Hm, I should’ve thought of that. Could’ve been fun, but it probably wouldn’t have put her at ease, which was what I needed. “No, no,” I said. “Listen, did you talk with your superiors yesterday?”

“Oh, about that—they did answer my request. They suggested I could make my own decision on that in the future, but for some reason, they didn’t want me to go yesterday.”

“Must be tough,” I said, “having to follow orders so far from home. Do they even let you call your family? Send letters?”

“Ah, that’s classified information. Sorry.”

Is that right.

Mikuru-chan fidgeted with her fingers, watching me nervously and bunching up the fabric of her skirt. I pulled out a chair and sat down beside her at the main table.

“I guess this must be surprising to you,” I said, “but I was just with Koizumi-kun, and we had a good talk about some things. It’s been a bit hard for him since I never really gave him a choice about being an esper in the first place, you know?”

She nodded. “Koizumi-kun’s been very helpful, though. I think he’s been invaluable to Kyon-kun in resolving some of the unusual situations we’ve been in, even if he takes a little time to do so.”

“Right! That’s very right; I think so, too. But anyway, I figured it must’ve been a bit hard on you, too, yeah? I mean, you’re here, how many years in the past for you?”

“That’s classified information.”

“And away from your family—don’t you have any sisters? Brothers?”

“That’s, um, really classified information!”

“You can’t talk about it, right? They hypnotised you, didn’t they? I can fix that, you know. You don’t have to be handcuffed by that conditioning!”

“You mustn’t!” She shook her head vehemently. “I’m not supposed to talk about the future! I’m not allowed to! Suzumiya-san, if you knew what it was like—” She shuddered. “I mean…”

“What is it? What do you think would happen? Or what do your superiors think would happen?”

She closed her eyes tightly, squealing. “With knowledge of the future, your powers can cause classified information to classified information even without classified information to stop it! It’s not limited like the classified information we use!” She covered her mouth, aghast. “I shouldn’t have said that! Now you’ll want to know what I said, and if you take my conditioning away—”

“Hold on!” I cried. “Calm down! I’m just trying to understand. What is it you’re afraid of? That I’ll change the future once I know about it?” I rattled the chair. “Mikuru-chan, look at me!”

“I’m sorry!” She pushed herself away from the table, the legs of the chair squeaking on the floor. “I’m sorry I can’t—I’m not supposed to upset you! I mean—” Her panicked gaze darted about the room. “I need to go!”

“Mikuru-chan, wait!”

With a squeal, she ran out the door. I could’ve caught her. She doesn’t run that fast, really, but I didn’t want to. If she couldn’t talk to me there, in our most private, safest place, what would be the point? One of these days, Mikuru-chan would go back to the future—her mission in the present, watching me, all over. When she’d gone, I wouldn’t even know where to look.

For good reason: I recognized the look on Mikuru-chan’s face—she was pale and agitated. The thought of me knowing anything else about her, about the time she came from or her life, filled her with a deathly fright. Much as I could try to convince her otherwise, that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

“It’s painful, isn’t it,” said a voice, “to be so constrained by the inevitabilities of time.”

There was a sound—a dull, metallic noise, damped by the flexibility of rubber. Someone _else_ was in that room with me, and she paced around the table with a heavy step. The old woman in the red yukata—the woman who met me before we went to Kōshien on Saturday, who disappeared when I went after her, had popped into the club room like it was nothing.

“Surprised to see me again?” Her voice was like gravel. “Much has changed for you, has it not, Young Lady?”

“What makes you say that?” I shot back. “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m following up on the conversation you just had with that mousey little girl a few moments ago.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She smiled to herself. “Give me some credit, will you? I appear from nowhere in your brigade’s headquarters. Is it not implausible that I know what you’ve been saying?”

I’ve been contacted by all manner of strange people trying to sway me in some way. I haven’t eaten, so you’ll forgive me if I want to grab something before afternoon classes, right? Yeah, I’m going now. Stay if you want; there might be some interesting photos on the desktop there. That should keep you entertained.

“Aren’t you curious who I am? How I know what you’ve said here today?”

“Not particularly.”

“Even if it’s because she told me so?”

I stopped in the doorway. Mikuru-chan wouldn’t—no, she _couldn’t_ tell a stranger what happened between us. If she could hardly talk to me, that’d be impossible for her!

“You’re lying,” I shot back, my shoulders stiffening. “Mikuru-chan would never tell you anything.”

“Quite the contrary, I’ve memorized that report,” said the old woman. “ ‘Suzumiya-san seemed insistent that I reveal details of my personal life and history to her, but I followed established protocols and withheld all information.’ To her credit, she did question whether those protocols applied since you were no longer held back by ignorance of your powers, but she recognized that wasn’t her decision to make. It’s a question for someone higher up the chain of command, someone older, wiser. Someone with the benefit of age, wisdom…” She laughed to herself. “And time.”

I shut the door, facing her. “You’re Mikuru-chan’s superior?”

“In a manner of speaking. Now that you know what you’re capable of, it seems a new understanding between us—residents of the future—and you is required. You are curious. You’re right to be. You want to provide aid and comfort to a friend? Well, let’s hope that stays a part of the human condition for many years after my time and yours have gone, but I think you can understand why the people of my time are gravely concerned. The time travel we do shouldn’t, in theory, jeopardize the world we know, but that timequake you caused—there were none too few old men and women, scientists all over, who cried themselves to sleep over that. Even that mousey friend of yours feels the same, constantly catching herself lest one slip invalidate the stream of history.”

“So what are you saying?” I asked her. “That I shouldn’t ask about anything because none of you can give any answers?”

“You’re perfectly free to ask.” She walked slowly, lumbering on her cane. “I would just ask you not to be surprised when you get no response—no, that’s not right. I’d just ask you to _understand_ why you don’t. Your friend’s reluctance is the product of years of conditioning and training. She cannot reveal anything. The thought fills her with irrational anxiety and terror. And perhaps you could change that with your powers—nay, I’m sure you could—but how would you know where the person ends and the conditioning begins? Are they even separable at all? You wouldn’t do that to a friend. You’re better than that. I’m not asking for you to quiet your inquisitiveness, to quash your concern. I ask for your patience.” She stopped at the door, huffing. “Ironic, isn’t it? A time-traveler asking for patience. Perhaps that can be better said. If you’ll excuse me, Young Lady…”

She turned the knob on the door, stepping into the hallway.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “First you came to me, saying I shouldn’t give up my dreams or whatever; now you’re saying I need to be patient? What gives?”

“The truth is complicated.” She started walking off, her footsteps rhythmic and steady, even with the great weight she put on her cane. I followed her, not letting her out of my sight; she’d only disappear otherwise, right? But she caught me. She peered over her shoulder and smiled, like she knew I’d do it, and in a blink, she was gone. There was no flash or sound. Maybe, just maybe, you could feel the air rushing into the place she’d left, but that was all.

She was right in a lot of ways—or so I thought when I got to working through what she’d said. I wouldn’t want to rewrite Mikuru-chan’s personality just to make her more open. If I did that with just one person, I may as well rewrite everyone in the world. I’d be no different than someone who plays God to avatars made of wireframes and polygons, to simulated people whose acts and aspirations are totally determined and controlled. That would make reality into nothing better than a computer game.

I walked back to the main building in a daze. To think just a week before the most I had to worry about was this nagging sense of discontent! I’d sat down lazily in the courtyard and thought, “Hm, maybe I should get something to drink.” Since then, everything I knew had been upended, and why? Why did that simple hundred-yen coin come out of the vending machine? I was the one who changed it, but why then? Why not a year before, when that boy seated in front of me turned around and asked if I was for real, if I was serious when I talked about aliens and time-travelers and the like?

All those questions made me uncomfortable; they made me fidget. They made me find the coin as I carried it with me and feel it between my fingers, as if the answer could somehow be discovered in the shapes of the cherry petals or the edges of the Arabic numerals on the reverse, but that was pointless, too. There were no answers in that coin. It was something I created. It would be like asking arithmetic to prove something about itself. Eventually, you get to something that just _is_ —it’s true but impossible to reason about. It’s a fact beyond proof that escapes all reason because we insist that arithmetic be consistent, that it not contradict itself. Professor Gödel teaches us this. I felt I must’ve been the same. I could accept there were things about myself I’d never understand, or I could accept that I was a contradiction for which nothing was true at all.

Then and now, I’m not sure which side of that would be better. Or worse.

I reached our classroom about ten minutes before the end of lunch period. I hadn’t eaten. I was starving, but it was far too late for that. Unless I turned back the clock to an hour before or warped in some noodles from the restaurant down the road, I’d be hungry for the rest of the afternoon. Honestly, I didn’t mind that, but I felt Kyon’s gaze on me as I walked in the door. His friend Kunikida was sitting at my desk and politely vacated the seat, apologizing for the intrusion. I didn’t mind. I just closed my hand around the hundred-yen coin and sat without a word.

“You all right?” asked Kyon, sitting sideways to watch me out of the corner of his eye. “Did you talk to Koizumi?”

Koizumi-kun, yes. Mikuru-chan, too. They both had the same things to say. They’d both been affected by being around me, forced to do things despite what they wanted. That much was clear. Mikuru-chan’s superior said as much, and as leery as I was of her, I could believe it.

“Wait, wait—Asahina-san’s superior? You can’t mean…?” He shook his head. “I guess that was inevitable.”

I looked at him slowly. “You’ve met her before, right? Mikuru-chan said as much.”

“Ah, yes, a few times. It’s been nothing I’ve planned, though. Don’t get any funny ideas.”

Funny ideas?

“I’m just saying it’s easy to let your guard down around her. I thought I’d never have something ill to say about Asahina-san, but when you deal with her, you have to remember that her first priority is to safeguard her future. For that, she doesn’t have a problem with keeping secrets or being coy. It’s all for good reasons, but still…”

Maybe it’s easy for you—I’m not about to let my guard down around some stranger. And just what are you saying about Mikuru-chan? The girl doesn’t know deception if it fell on top of her like a stack of propaganda flyers! “Who are you talking about?” I asked. “Mikuru-chan or her superior?”

Kyon turned all the way around, facing me. “Huh? Whom did you meet just now?”

“Like I said, Mikuru-chan’s superior.”

“Young woman in her twenties? Heels, white buttoned blouse, dark skirt?”

“Red yutaka with a rubber-tipped steel cane, like a long baton,” I said. “Old woman.”

He gaped for a moment, shooting a glance at the door. He came in closer, whispering. “Haruhi, that’s not Asahina-san’s superior.”

“She isn’t? Then who was she? How did she know all about us?”

“I don’t know, but if she’s another time-traveler, she’s dangerous. They all are. Don’t get me wrong—Asahina-san right now is a dear friend, someone I’d rely on in a heartbeat, but in the future, she’s going to be different. She’ll learn how to toy with people, how to be coy and to hold them in the palm of her hand. Never in a malicious, manipulative way, but that’s what her job will push her to be.”

My mouth hung open in disbelief. I could understand Kyon keeping quiet about these things in front of the brigade, especially while Mikuru-chan was around, but it didn’t make sense to me! I knew the way he looked at her. I wasn’t wrong, was I? For him to express such doubts about Mikuru-chan, about our friend!

“What happened, Kyon?” I whispered. “What did Mikuru-chan do to make you say anything like that?”

“It’s not what Asahina-san did to me. It’s not what a third-year upperclassman did to me. The person who controls her—who sends her missions and gives her orders— _that person_ used me. That person’s used Asahina-san, too. That person makes Asahina-san think she’s still a novice, unable to capably handle her mission, but that’s not true. I see Asahina-san growing up every day, and I know that in time, she’ll _become_ that person.”

He took a deep breath, staring out the window.

“I know this because Asahina-san’s handler is Asahina-san herself.”

  


She was manipulating herself. An older, wiser Mikuru-chan was giving herself the orders she remembered taking, sending her and Kyon in circles to make sure the future turned out the way it should. Without a doubt she’d been helpful. She hung back for Kyon that Tanabata night, so when he needed a friend, an ally to help put the world back the way it was, someone would be there to help.

And it was on her order, her instruction, that Kyon went back there in the first place, to meet me at the gate to East Middle School and call himself John Smith. Otherwise, I might never have believed him. In that, she found a way to completely gain my trust.

That was as much Kyon could tell me in the last minutes before Teacher arrived.

I was starting to get really bad at listening in class. I wasn’t following my own advice—that if you want to learn something at school, all you have to do is put everything else out of your mind. Not everything can be so easily forced out, though. If Mikuru-chan could keep herself in the dark, if she could play with Kyon’s respect and loyalty to make him do what she wanted…

What could I believe about her, then? Did she set herself up for this? Did she send herself to this school, so I’d find her, so I’d think she was this cute, helpless little thing? That girl couldn’t manipulate a paper bag, but given time, she could learn. She could become a different person, having taken something away from the experience of being around me, from many missions through time.

I didn’t want to believe it, but I had no reason to doubt Kyon, either. Even so, the image of Mikuru-chan he painted for me was nothing I could reconcile with the girl I knew.

That’s why, when we were done with energy conservation and inclined planes, I stepped out for afternoon recess, except I wasn’t going to the toilet. I made sure no one was in the halls to watch me, and I wiped the interior of the school building away. There were many places I could go to find her, but the time was most important. I needed a time the older Mikuru-chan would be in so I could look her in the eye and decide for myself what kind of person she was, who she’d become after leaving us.

I didn’t know where I’d find myself. Experience taught me I didn’t need to know where and when I wanted to be to will myself there, but I expected something unbelievable—a city, perhaps, with skyscrapers all over, so high that they’d form a canopy to blot out the sun. Or maybe it’d be a space station, a self-contained world eight kilometers long where alien diplomats would meet and argue.

“Oof!”

A man in a business suit brushed against my shoulder.

“Sorry about that, Young Lady,” he said, giving a nod as he went down the sidewalk. There was a small crowd pouring out of the building in front of me. Some were businessmen, like the man who ran into me. Others were children in a variety of school uniforms. There was a woman sending an e-mail on her phone. It was nothing unusual, nothing out of the ordinary.

Out of all the placed I could end up, I hardly expected to find myself outside Kitaguchi Station on a quiet weekday afternoon.

“My, you seem quite surprised. Perhaps you should look more closely at your surroundings?”

That gravely voice, the clinking of her cane—I knew who that was right away. The old woman had put herself beside me without even a disturbance in the air.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded. “And how did you know I’d be here?”

“That’s the advantage of foreknowledge, Young Lady,” she said. “I’ve known for some years I’d find you at this place and time.”

“Time?” I snorted. “Not real hard to find me in time. I could walk here from school in not too long.”

She chuckled. “I highly doubt that. As I said, look more closely. Use your senses. You needn’t be superhuman to do that. Don’t you notice something out of place?”

Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe you need to walk me through this one.

“The air—it’s clean and fresh, isn’t it? The air in twenty-first-century Japan carries the taint of pollution, of burned fossil fuels and such. Even in rural areas, it’s detectable. Smell the air, Young Lady. It’s too clean. It’s filtered, purified. It has to be, for it’s provided here.”

I scoffed. “You’re losing your mind, Grandma. I’ve lived here all my life. I don’t ‘smell’ anything unusual. I don’t see anything strange.”

“Oh, you don’t, do you?” From her weak, unassuming hunch, the old woman stood upright. She gripped her cane with two hands, as one would a baseball bat, and swung at the station wall!

CRACK!

I shuddered. The unholy sound buzzed in my ears. There was a rainbow flash of light, and on the surface of the concrete pillar, a colorful pattern shimmered from the impact point, something solid material never should do.

“Particles, Young Lady,” said the old woman, hunching over once more. “Particles and waves and interference. That’s all it is. That’s all any of this _stuff_ is. If that doesn’t convince you, look to the street. The crater you blasted out in that young girl’s defense—is it still there? You saw it two days ago. It wouldn’t be patched now. Go ahead; turn around. I’ll wait.”

I didn’t. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction, but I couldn’t deny it, either. I looked in other places—to the café on the corner as a young woman walked out with two paper cups of steaming coffee, to the row of bikes parked on the street as a police officer attached a citation to a pair of handlebars. “What is this?” I asked her. “What is this trick, this fakery? Tell me!”

“A trick is something meant to deceive. That’s not the purpose of this place.”

“But the people!”

She tapped the outer wall of the building with her cane—gently this time, but no less deliberate. “They’re as contrived as this station. They’re facsimiles. This whole place is meant to emulate the real thing, so that people of this time can know what Japan of the past was like.”

To know what the past was like, not as tourists would visit a museum or anything so innocent as that. That would be boring. I’d find it boring. That place was more important.

It was their training ground.

“After your young, naÏve friend leaves the brigade, there will be others sent to watch you. While ostensibly their mission would be to ensure you don’t disrupt the flow of time, they’ll monitor your esper friends, the alien interfaces, and that ordinary boy who seems caught in the middle. Anyone who can influence you will be fair game. There are many missions that time-travelers like me undertake, but few phenomena in this universe attract more attention than you. For the monumental task of preparing dozens of prospective operatives, this facility was built. Look closely at the sky, Young Lady. Doesn’t the blue seem slightly wrong? It’s fake. It’s pretend. It’s not even real earth beneath your feet, either—an illusion meant to ready their operatives, so they can protect the future from the past.” Her eyes settled on me. “That is, so they can protect the future from you.”

Urgh, that woman, she was really getting irritating with her lectures and speeches and cryptic answers! “I don’t care if you’re an elder,” I said, “you’re full of shit!”

“Language, Dear,” she said.

“Fuck that! I didn’t come here to be harangued for hours on end by an old woman with lies and misdirection. Mikuru-chan isn’t afraid of me. And I thought you said you were her superior? Telling me all this would totally subvert what your time-travelers are trying to do, so what’s the real story?”

The old woman looked at me and let out a heavy sigh. She drummed her fingers on her cane, and after a moment’s contemplation, said, “Sometimes, as we age, we realize we haven’t made the choices we’d have liked—or worse yet, that we deprived someone else of any chance to choose on their own. The power of foreknowledge is to guarantee history turns out the way you want it—not the way it should or shouldn’t have, just the way that frightens you least or empowers you most. What the time-travelers of this day do I was a part of. That much I won’t deny, but I can’t be part of it any longer. I have too few years left to make amends for past deeds any other way.” She tapped her cane on the sidewalk. “Well, you’d best be going, yes? The person you came to meet is here. Head in that direction, and you’ll find her presently.”

A bus full of passengers pulled up down the block, and it wasn’t long before the old woman and I were just two people amid a busy crowd. I stepped closer to her, so she could hear me, but for the longest time, I didn’t know what to say. All that talk of what happens when we get older—I’d seldom put much thought into to that. I think I felt, on one level, that the kind of person who spends so much time worrying about the distant future has nothing to really live for in the present, but then, you can end up like that old woman, right? All alone, with no time left to change anything else. What other reason could there be for someone so old to go back to the past and work to undo what her people had done?

For that, I thought I understood the old woman, at least a little bit, but I couldn’t really trust her. I didn’t even know who she was. “What about you?” I asked. “What are you going to do?”

“Even as a fantasy, I find this place peaceful enough,” she said. “It’s refreshing in its own way. Nostalgic, even. Not to worry, Young Lady. We’ll see each other again soon enough.”

“And when will that be?”

“Sometime,” she said. “Sometime soon.”

From a time-traveler, I don’t think there’s a statement any more vague.

I left the old woman there, outside the station, and she stood perfectly still while commuters waded around her, like flowing water that breaks around a small rock in the stream. She closed her eyes, listening I guess, and was still there even as I left the square. I went where she pointed me, I quickly realized why the path seemed familiar—it was the way home. These time-travelers—Mikuru-chan’s people—had built an uncanny copy of town, right down to the last crack in the sidewalk. Surely they didn’t need to be so exacting. What was the point in recreating an ant nest on the side of the road? Nothing I could think of. I guess, when you have the luxury of time on your side, you can record every detail.

I guessed time-travelers would want to prepare for everything, and these people in particular had the technology to do it. When were they from? If they could build a structure and isolate it from the outside world, if they could make a fake sun as bright and luminous as the real one…

She said to look at the sky. I shaded my eyes with my hand and stared. It was true—when you studied it closely, the blue seemed to give way to something. Was it orange? Yellow? It was like one of those optical illusions—an impossible color that the human mind isn’t capable of understanding.

Good thing I knew how to deal with impossible things. Asakura had said once I could change my perceptions; I could see things our eyes could never detect. I looked through the sky, through the illusion of the sky that was there, and I saw something very different—the air was a pale, creamy color. The sun was low in the sky. I saw clearly the shape of the place I was in: an inverted dome. It was protected by metal infrastructure, with weblike beams and a thin sheet for the outer surface.

And it was flying.

No, it was _floating_. I guess that’s one way to hide a time-travelers’ training ground: floating in the dense atmosphere or an alien planet. No one will happen upon that. So much effort. That’s what struck me most. So much effort they must’ve spent—making this place, burying it in the atmosphere or another world. A city in the clouds it was. So important was this place and time to them. I’d spent years wishing and hoping to meet time-travelers, and it looked like they must’ve spent years preparing and studying in order to meet me.

All they had to do was ask me, and I’d have told them everything they wanted to know, but they didn’t go to the past for that.

And I hadn’t come to the future for that, either. I was looking for someone, and it wasn’t long after I got back on my block that I heard her voice.

“In a moment, we’ll be visiting Suzumiya Haruhi’s home. It could be considered smaller than average by that time’s standards, but for a family of three, it’s quite adequate.”

That was Mikuru-chan. She looked…older, all right. She was dressed exactly as Kyon said—a buttoned shirt, a simple skirt. She wore a baseball cap, which seemed out of place, but her hair was long and fabulous. 

Most importantly, though, I’d recognize those boobs anywhere.

She walked at the head of a group—about a dozen people, mostly teenagers by the looks of them, but there were a couple adults and even a boy who looked like he should still be in grade school. 

I ran behind a lamppost, keeping my back to their group. None of the fake people walking around had recognized me, but if these time-travelers had all come to learn about my time, my home, they’d probably make a fuss in a heartbeat. I could jump around from dark place to dark place, shadowing them the whole way, but that’d be a pain. I did something a lot simpler, even if it was new to me.

I walked into plain view, and Mikuru-chan walked right by me, like I wasn’t even there. To her and her tour group, I was just a piece of empty air—silent, undetectable.

Invisible.

“Suzumiya-san’s room will be upstairs,” said Mikuru-chan, glancing over her shoulder to check her party. “We’ve chosen to fix the time on this training area to the spring of her third year in high school. This will be the time most of you will be involved in. Another observer from our time is in charge of the period before that.”

Yeah, that would be you, Mikuru-chan, before you graduate and head to university. That is, if you’re even going to university in our time at all.

I tagged along at the back of the group since otherwise I’d be constantly worrying about them running into me. One of them, a guy, started talking in some eclectic mixture of vowels and consonants. It sounded like a mix between English and Chinese, with a helping of Spanish thrown in there. I could pick out sounds, but it was all a jumble. Whatever he said, Mikuru-chan shook her head admonishingly.

“No, no, I must insist you use period Japanese,” she said. “That too is part of your training. You don’t want to draw attention to yourselves, do you? Suzumiya-san would find a hitherto unknown language very intriguing, you know.”

“You say that like you’ve met her, Teacher,” said a girl. “You have, haven’t you?”

She turned, spotting the girl, and winked. “That’s classified information. Get used to that, too. There will be a lot you’ll have to hide—from your families, from each other, and if you do happen to draw attention to yourself and Suzumiya-san notices, you’ll have to hide things from her, too. There will be no challenge more difficult than that.”

“Because she can use her powers to force secrets from your mind?” said another trainee.

“She _may_ , if she chooses. For that you should be careful.” Mikuru-chan led them around a corner, up the walk to my front door. “But,” she said quietly, “that’s not the difficulty of which I speak.”

At my door was another—an assistant, I guessed. He was no older than me. He ran his fingers through his light hair, and his pointy chin seemed to be angled up, giving him a critical air. “Sister,” he said, “are they ready for me?”

“Indeed they are,” said Mikuru-chan. “Please, everyone, if you’ll go with Fujiwara-kun? He’ll show you around. We’ll reconvene in half an hour to visit the school next, all right?”

So cool she was. Calm and pleasant, yet there was an air of command to her voice that surprised me. Cute young Mikuru-chan—sometimes she acted like she was afraid of her own shadow. This woman in front of me was something else. She conveyed her wisdom with her trainees. She grew up to be this sharp, confident woman. That much I could see. Someone who’d pull the strings on Kyon and her younger self to make things happen the way she wanted? I couldn’t fathom that at all, but it was fact, wasn’t it? If Kyon was right, Mikuru-chan in our time had no idea who her boss was. It could be problematic, right—knowing she was being ordered around by her older self?

Still, what Kyon told me and what I saw gave me two different images of the person in front of me. The only way to resolve them was to meet her. That’s why, as she let out a breath, checked her watch, and turned from my door, I stepped forward and appeared before her.

“Hm?” She smiled. “What are you doing here, looking like that? Feeling nostalgic?”

Pretty sure I’d have to graduate high school before I could feel nostalgic about it.

“Oh!” Her eyes widened in surprise. “You—you’re Suzumiya-san. But here?” She touched the bill of her cap, the one emblazoned with the Hanshin Tigers logo. “So that’s why she asked me to wear this…”

“Who’s that?” I asked. “The old woman?”

“Old woman? No, someone else.” She took off the cap, holding it tightly in her hands. “Well, Suzumiya-san, welcome to the future. What brings you here? Can I make you some tea?”

  


Finding some tea that wasn’t fabricated magic particles was a lot harder than you would’ve thought. Eventually, we settled on dismissing all the simulated people in the café by the station and having a private party. I did some fabricating of my own, making tea and water out of nothing. I thought it wouldn’t hurt if I imagined the tastiest box lunch I’d ever had, either, since I’d skipped a meal. I offered Mikuru-chan some of the same (especially the stuffed peppers; I can’t get enough of those), but she politely passed. Something about me must make people want to watch while I eat.

“It’s not that,” Mikuru-chan insisted, offering me a steaming cup while she poured her own. “If I may, you could be a bit imposing sometimes. This being so unexpected, I just want to give you my full attention.”

I nibbled at a piece of pork. “Is that so?”

We talked for hours about all sorts of things. That was the beauty of talking with a time-traveler—she was never in any hurry, and at least she had the power to, in a way, make her own rules. The good thing about talking with me, of course, was that we’d never run out of tea. Mikuru-chan was still a bit secretive; she did say that boy from before, Fujiwara, wasn’t really her brother, or at least he wasn’t “in this timeline,” whatever that meant. Aside from that, she wouldn’t say much about her family.

“The nature of time travel is that you need people of all ages, shapes, and sizes,” she explained. “So, it wasn’t unusual at all for someone my age to get involved and be allowed to do so. I was excited, but I also knew I needed too learn a lot about it—more than I reasonably could pick up after just two days of being here, but that’s all the time I had before I was sent to your time. I felt a bit…overwhelmed, you might say. I’d gone through the training—the conditioning needed to keep details about our time a secret, so I knew I’d be going to the past. I thought that meant I’d get to observe history and record what we’d forgotten over the course of centuries. As you can see, though…” She motioned toward the window and the recreation of the square outside. “It seems we already understand your time.

“In the end, though, I think it all turned out well. Now, I understand that I didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. After I returned here, to this time, I worked some other assignments, to the future and the past, but ultimately, I had to come back and instruct myself.” She looked away, staring out the window of the shop. “I admit, for a time I wondered if I’d ever really been interested in time travel at all, or if that had been predetermined, too.”

“But you’re still here,” I said. “You still work at it; you still control yourself. When did you find out?”

“I really shouldn’t say. It’s classified information.”

There it was—the desire to keep history intact. That I could appreciate, but she must’ve known there was nothing stopping me from going back and telling her myself. What would happen then?

Mikuru-chan bit her lip. “It probably wouldn’t have mattered who told me or if I figured it out myself. It was surprising. It made me reconsider what I was doing and why. Eventually, I realized that being caught like this in a predestination loop made my job easier. I knew what I had to do. I knew because I remembered, and I could use my experiences to teach others.”

“So they can watch me, too,” I said.

“Ah, yes. It sounds worse that way, doesn’t it? It can’t be helped, though. My bosses always want at least one time-traveler close to you, looking for disruptions in the flow of time. Even now, we can’t go back beyond a certain time, beyond the fault we think you made. If more faults were to form, it’d be very troublesome for us. You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course. It just seems like a waste to me. There have to be tons of interesting things in the future—your future, I mean. You’re time-travelers. Shouldn’t you be looking at those more, instead of making such huge training facilities just to watch me?”

Mikuru-chan had a pained expression. “Ha—I mean, Suzumiya-san, there’s no time period we spend more resources on, no place we send more of our operatives, than your Japan, your Earth.”

Because nothing frightens a time-traveler more than the prospect that someone can take away their abilities, impede the ability to jump forward and backward along the flow of history. These people, Mikuru-chan included, weren’t explorers. They couldn’t afford to be. They’d made this massive recreation of my home, something fit for a museum or an exhibit that tourists could visit and pay out the nose for, but they kept it a secret. They kept it to themselves, so they could send any number of time-travelers to my side, hiding in plain sight.

And while I saw Mikuru-chan’s anxiety over telling me that, I glimpsed something else in her expression. I tutored kids sometimes, you know. Younger kids, mostly just in our neighborhood. This one kid with glasses—sometimes I’d give him a piece of candy as a treat when he battled through a problem and worked it out. It wasn’t that he was dumb; he could be really inspired but needed to apply himself. Anyway, sometimes, if I turned away, he’s sneak a treat from the bowl I’d set up. If I caught him, he’d look guilty, sure. Most people would, but I learned right away there’s a difference between feeling guilty and feeling sorry.

Mikuru-chan didn’t feel sorry. Behind her cute mannerisms and gentleness, there was conviction. History was sacrosanct to her, and even to this person—a full-fledged woman—that meant the less I knew, the better.

So I thought I’d test how deep that conviction was. “You know,” I said, “Kyon told me a little about you.”

“Kyon-kun? What did he say?”

“That you’d become very pretty, for one thing. He wasn’t wrong about that.”

She blushed, unable to hold off a smile. “Kyon-kun’s a flatterer. Really, I just do the best I can. That’s really quite kind of him to say.”

“Sure, sure. He just warned me you’d be different is all.”

“Different? How so?”

“Oh, nothing too big,” I said. “Just that you’d grown-up a lot in other ways, too. He said you could persuade him to do almost anything, as long as you left a note and asked nicely.”

Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out—at least, not right away. “Kyon-kun gives me too much credit,” she said. “Without his ingenuity, a lot of what we’ve done would’ve been impossible. Kyon-kun’s been really helpful in that respect.”

“Yeah,” I said. “He can really think on his feet when he has to. Like, what was it, when you sent yourself back in time over Valentine’s? I guess that was a bit of a pickle, huh?”

“Is that what Kyon-kun told you?”

“More or less. I mean, he just said he had to get real creative to hide you from yourself and such, and all-in-all, to make sure _I_ didn’t see you kidnapped makes a lot of sense.” I laughed. “Really a clever plan, Mikuru-chan!”

She looked at me with a horrified expression, but after a while, she started laughing, too. “It really didn’t take much. Once I considered what I could remember, I just had to fill in the gaps. That’s all.”

There was something else to that, though. By downplaying her involvement, she was distancing herself from the act. She must’ve realized it, too. Mikuru-chan wasn’t so heartless. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have turned pale when I said, in no uncertain terms, she’d put Kyon into a tough situation just because it was the way she remembered it happening.

I cleared my throat and pressed on. “I always thought he liked you, you know.”

“No!” she cried immediately. “That’s quite impossible. Kyon-kun would never—I told him there were rules!”

“Rules? What kind of rules?”

“It’s—” She let out a breath, laughing to herself in frustration. “I’m sorry; when you’re like this, you can still scare me sometimes.”

“Scare you?”

She nodded. “I was so afraid back then—afraid I might slip and make things so much worse, but now, I guess I should confront what I’ve done, right? In dealing with you, I’ve learned there’s no better approach to life than facing it boldly. Kyon-kun was being polite with you, Suzumiya-san. Don’t misunderstand me—all of you I consider my closest friends, even now—but I had to maintain some distance from you, so now…” She looked away, through the window. “So now, as I’ve taken over from this side, I can do what needs to be done. I’ve put Kyon-kun in difficult situations when I had to. I’ve gotten him involved in things he never would’ve chosen on his own. And if Kyon-kun liked me somehow, if he wanted to protect me, that was good because then he’d do more.

“I think he started to catch on to that. Believe me, it’s nothing I wanted to happen back then. The younger me, that mousey, wide-eyed little girl—she doesn’t know what she’s doing to him. By the time you come from, I think he knows better. He knows not to just sit back and let me have my way, and as for who he keeps closest to his heart—well, that’s never been in doubt, has it?”

She put on a pleasant smile then, but something in me wanted to look closer, to find something else underneath. Mikuru-chan gave away nothing, though, and only took a small sip of tea.

“In the end,” she said, “it’s all for a good cause. Kyon-kun understands that, too.”

I said nothing, and Mikuru-chan put down her cup.

“Doesn’t he?” she asked.

  


When we were finished, Mikuru-chan offered to take me back home—to my time, that is. After all she’d said about deceiving Kyon, I was hesitant. I tried to argue with her—shouldn’t there be some other way? As much as you want to protect time or whatever, there should be another way!

She was adamant, though. She had to do what she remembered happening, regardless of the consequences. “If that distances me from the brigade, from you and Kyon-kun, it’s something I have to accept,” she said. “It’s bound to happen anyway. The time I’ll be leaving for the future won’t be long coming. I’m sure you understand.”

Honestly? I didn’t understand at all. And while she asked me to close my eyes, so I wouldn’t become timesick, I thought it over. On the inside, it was like Mikuru-chan was made much colder, sterner stuff than I’d thought possible. What had made her that way? Was it leaving us? Was she bitter over that somehow? I’d asked her about costumes and all the performances we’d put on. She only said it was a little embarrassing. That wouldn’t make her so…accepting of what she’d done. I didn’t understand at all.

“We’re here.”

I opened my eyes. We were by my shoe locker. There were a couple other kids around, coming in from a walk in the fresh air or going out to stretch their legs before the last classes. Afternoon recess, just when I’d left, though I didn’t exactly need to change my shoes, since I could just make them poof in and out of existence at will.

“Ah, of course, how silly of me,” she said. “You were always very good about small details like that. Well, I guess this is goodbye, Suzumiya-san. Please, if you intend to visit in the future, leave a note with the younger me here. She’ll understand how to pass it along.”

I couldn’t exactly say when I thought I’d do that. “You know,” I said, “you look really funny wearing that hat.”

She touched the brim of the Tigers cap. “Oh, this? Ah, I thought to keep it as a souvenir of this time. It seemed like one of the few things small enough I could afford to take along.”

“It’s mine, you know.”

“Hm?”

“We switched hats at the café,” I said. “Check under the brim; you wrote your initials on it, remember?”

She looked at me blankly, taking off the hat and showing me the underside. “This is the hat I bought that day,” she said. “See?”

There were the letters _MA_ in black marker ink—the lines had bled slightly over time, but otherwise, the cap was quite pristine. How could that be? Yuki turned it into a spear and back again. It was beat up, battered, worn down. I had that hat in my bedroom, sitting on my desk. I sure didn’t write her initials on it, so how could it…?

“Asahina-san!”

From the steps came a flurry of footfalls. Kyon raced over to meet us between the lockers, doubling over and panting like he’d just run a marathon.

“Not a marathon, but a sprint,” he corrected. “Where did you go, Haruhi? Why is Asahina-san having to ferry you back like this? The younger Asahina-san didn’t know anything, and Nagato could only say there was a disturbance—”

“We just had a short chat,” said Mikuru-chan, donning the cap again. “It was nice to catch up with Suzumiya-san over some tea. Very nostalgic.”

Kyon’s jaw dropped for about a second. I could imagine what he was thinking. I disappear for a moment, and it’s all for a cup of tea? “Is that right,” he finally managed to mutter. “Well, it’s been a hectic week or so. It’s, uh, good to see you, Asahina-san.”

She brightened, bowing thoroughly. “Likewise, Kyon-kun. Are you well?”

“It’s been crazy, but I’m coping.”

“You do that very well. It’s a credit to you.”

He chuckled. “Haruhi, you’re okay?”

“Yeah, perfect,” I said.

“I should be going anyway,” said Mikuru-chan. “It’s good to see you both again. Kyon-kun, could you excuse us for a moment?”

“Huh?” He blinked. “Ah, sure. It’s a bit early to be planning another surprise, though.”

Mikuru-chan smiled. “Nothing like that, I’m afraid. Be safe.”

“You too.” Kyon hiked up the steps, looking back, but he didn’t linger.

“Well, Mikuru-chan?” I began. “What else did you want to say?”

She was staring into space, totally fixed on the point where Kyon had been.

“Mikuru-chan?”

“Hm?” She met my gaze. “Oh, sorry. I, um, I just felt I should warn you, about that old woman. If you see her again, please let us know. We’ve been trying to track her down for some time; she’s a dangerous rogue time-traveler, so you should be careful, all right?”

That was fine. It wouldn’t be the first time I ran into the rogue element of some organization of amazing beings.

“Good,” said Mikuru-chan, putting on a warm smile. “And finally, Suzumiya-san, I must tell you about something else—something that is to happen in the very near future. There will come a time where you’ll have to decide the course of the future from this point on. It’d be very much easier for us if you choose the one that I’m from. Do you understand?”

I frowned. “You’re saying there’s a possibility I won’t choose that?”

“Oh, no, I only mean it would be helpful for us; that’s all.”

“What kind of choice would I be making?”

“Ah, that’s highly classified information. I don’t even know, and if I did—”

You wouldn’t be allowed to say.

“You’re absolutely free to choose one or the other,” she said quickly. “I can’t say one would be better or worse, only different.”

“But one of them has your future, right?” I asked. “Why wouldn’t I choose that? It’d be silly to do anything else. I don’t want to do anything that’d make you—both of you—never exist.”

“Oh no, I’d still be there,” she corrected. “We just might not know each other as well.”

Still, sounded like a pretty simple decision to me. “It won’t be a problem,” I told her. “Promise.”

She blinked, a surprised expression on her face. “Oh. That’s good then. Thank you! Well, I’ll be going now. Take care, Suzumiya-san.”

You too.

I took off for the stairs, feeling energetic, like I could run to class and still have enough steam left to do a lap around the school, but when I hit the bottom step—

Clunk!

There was the sound of lockers buckling from a soft, muffled impact.

And a quiet, muted sob.

I trotted back to the row of shoe lockers, and where an upright, professional time-traveler had been, a grown woman curled up into a ball and cried into her knees. Her hair fell all over her, like a cloak, hiding the expression on her face, but honestly, I didn’t want to see it anyway. It would’ve been worse.

“Mikuru-chan, why…?”

She sniffled. She wiped her eyes, and her whole body shuddered as she caught her breath. “You were right,” she said. “It was so easy—it always has been—to make myself and Kyon-kun and even you follow my instructions, to make you do what I needed from you.” She turned her head sideways, away from me, but at least in that position I could hear her more clearly. “When I came here, I didn’t expect we’d become friends—all of us in the brigade. I thought it was all a happy coincidence, but now I wonder if I’ve been setting it up all along, if I’ve been using those friendships to suit my needs.”

“That’s not true!” I cried. “I don’t care who you’ve grown up to be, that’s not you! That’s not the way you are!”

At last, she turned to look at me. Her eyes were red, and traces of eyeliner rank with her tears. “You’re right; I wouldn’t use you for my needs, but the needs of causality, of _time_ —that’s exactly what I’ve done.” She put her head back, banging softly against the lockers. “All along, I’ve felt that protecting history justified anything. It means you can nail a board to the ground and break a man’s foot, so he’ll meet the woman he’s supposed to spend the rest of his life with. It means you can drop a turtle in a pond, guaranteeing that the little boy who sees those ripples will invent time travel and protect your existence, and they’ll never know how you influenced them. They’ll _thank_ you if they find out. We interfere with time so much. That’s why I feel like I had to be on this mission—on both sides of it. Do you know why, Haruhi?”

The regret and cynicism in her voice—I couldn’t picture our Mikuru-chan saying those words. I shook my head, stunned and speechless.

“Because only a friend could make you thank her for taking away your ability to choose who you are and what you want to do with your life. That’s why I hate it. I hate what I’ve done, yet I don’t see any other way. How can anyone say they feel history should be rewritten, altered, erased?” She closed her eyes. “You must’ve heard this before. How long did you know? How long has it been since you realized I believed in what I was doing so much, I was willing to let him go?”

I left her there, between the lockers. I left her to cry as much as she wanted. I felt I owed her that much—the dignity to weep in private—for I finally understood who she was. She did like him. That much was clear. She liked him, but she couldn’t get involved because that would make things harder when she had to use him. To protect time, she had rules—rules to distance herself from us when she left. When Mikuru-chan gave herself over to the time-travelers, her fate was already chosen for her. There was no chance to explore strange futures or record the past. She was committed to protecting time, to ensuring history flowed the way her people remembered it.

And now that she understood what that meant, she hated herself for it.

Because I was here, she couldn’t be a wide-eyed explorer of history. I liked to think of Mikuru-chan as a friend, but just by being here, just by having these powers, I’d totally changed the course of her life. I forced her to stand alone, a guardian of time.

Just like I forced Koizumi-kun to be an esper, and now he doesn’t know how else to live. I brought them both to my side, taking the lives they would’ve lived, just so I could have two more fantastic friends.

If that’s the way I made the world, then the world isn’t right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt Gödel was an Austrian mathematician. His two incompleteness theorems state that a theory of arithmetic can’t be both consistent (not contradicting itself) and complete (being able to prove all facts about itself).
> 
> The time-travelers’ training ground is a floating bubble of breathable air in an atmosphere of denser gas below. Such floating cities have been proposed for colonization of Venus. While Venus’s ground level is unbearably hot and too high a pressure to sustain human life, there is a level in its atmosphere where the temperatures are habitable and the pressure is the same as Earth’s sea level, and breathable air would be a lifting gas like heilum in a balloon. Since Venus’s gravity is 90% that of Earth’s, this is also attractive compared to lower-gravity planets like Mars.


	9. The Blue Marble

When I was in primary school, I had many friends. That was before my parents took me to Kōshien, before I realized how many schools and classes must’ve been like mine. I genuinely believed my classmates to be the most interesting kids in the world, so I wanted to know them. I wanted to know what their parents were like—if they had strange hobbies like mine did in writing magical girl stories or hacking the Internet for kicks. I learned quickly that every family was different, but that’s what made getting to know other people interesting. You never knew what stories they could tell.

Most of all, though, I remember a girl I worked with for a short time. My class had been assigned a cooperative project with the room next door for the festival—a collage about influential scientists. I’d been sick the day we started, so I was paired up with this girl from the other class. She was a bit quiet and shy, but when she got talking, you could tell she was bright and interested in learning. She was the odd kind of person who didn’t make friends right away, so when all the other kids in our classes had paired up, she was left behind. We weren’t partners by choice, not even by reluctant mutual agreement. I wanted to do the project on Professor Yukawa, but she thought it’d be more instructive to talk about his mentor Fermi instead. When I suggested Einstein, she insisted Newton was the more impressive mind, coming up with gravity when we had nothing but sticks and beads to count with. We went on and on with this; one of us would come up with an idea only for the other to counter with something she thought was better. Frankly, I didn’t like her very much for that. We’d been forced together, after all—I didn’t feel any obligation to like her just because we had to work together.

Sooner or later, though, the project had to be finished. The festival was coming up, and cleverly, we agreed to disagree, in a sense. Science is a collaborative effort after all, so by plotting the relationships between those great minds, we came up with a story of scientific history, a story we put to pictures and words. From the moment Professor Schrödinger played with the young girls he tutored in the Mediterranean Sea, the idea of the wavelike nature of the world stuck in his mind. While we seldom agreed on most things, my partner and I really enjoyed anecdotes like those. That was the one thing we did have in common—a sense of wonder for the mysteries of the world. From that, I think we learned to respect and admire one another, too. Well, as much as you can when you’re seven years old.

Since we were never in the same class, we seldom saw each other after that, though I ran into her from time to time, and I made a point to say hello. We didn’t go to the same middle school, and I got the impression that there was there was some trouble in her family, that her mother might’ve remarried or something. I just remember that, after we finished our project together, she took care to be a little more outgoing, to not be so wrapped up in her odd way of thinking as to ignore the people around her altogether. I think that did her some good.

As for me, I kept a memento to remember her by: she let me take the collage and a marble she’d used when we presented it at the festival. It was a deep blue, unreflective piece of round glass, one you could stare into for days but never see through. She’d used it as an analogy for a hyperbolic world, a place that to our eyes would seem like a simple ball, but to anything inside, the outer boundary would be impossibly far away. It would stretch on forever and ever with no end in sight. I’d never played with marbles, but I kept it on my desk, just because. I think, when she gave me that marble, I realized we’d actually become friends, despite everything.

The situations were different, of course, but as I walked back to class that afternoon—the day I’d left for the future and come back with Mikuru-chan’s older self in tears—I hoped there was something I could take away from that memory to help me. That girl and I had been forced together, and we turned out all right. If the others in the brigade had been drawn to me the same way—compelled to stick around and watch me, no matter what I did to make them wish they could leave—at least there was a chance, right? There was a chance all would work out with effort, with determination, and we could be true friends in the long run, regardless of whatever we’d been before.

Kyon, for his part, didn’t seem to concerned. I ran into him in the hallway. He was dragging his feet, I imagine, for how else could I have caught up to him so easily?

“It’s possible I wasn’t in any particular hurry to get back to my desk,” he said.

I told him all about my visit to Mikuru-chan’s future and my chat with Koizumi-kun, but he didn’t seem fazed by it.

“Maybe I’ve seen too much,” he wondered out loud. “Or, it could be that, despite what they’ve said, I’m not going to worry too much over things. Koizumi, Asahina-san, and Nagato are good people. They’re reliable and dependable, and they’ve never let me down. I think, now that the truth is out, you’ll get to see them that way, too, and the same goes for them. It’ll just take some time. That’s all.”

Time, huh. Time would do us all some good, but that didn’t quell the uneasy feeling in my gut. I hoped Kyon was right. I _wanted_ him to be right, but at the same time, I felt a little jealous. All along, he’d known the others a lot better than I ever had. I didn’t begrudge him that, but it gave him the luxury of security. Through the last session of classes, I just didn’t feel so certain. I needed a second opinion. Tsuruya-san knew all of us, but she could have a weird outlook on things, and I wanted a viewpoint that was a bit more grounded.

When the last teacher left for the day, we rose and bowed, and the class rep barked out assignments for cleanup.

“Yura-san, Sakanaka-san, blackboard duty,” he said. “Hanase and Nakashima, floors. Tejima and—”

“Hold on a minute,” I said. “I thought I was on the blackboard today.”

Kyon shot me an expression like he wanted to do a spit take. The class rep gawked for a moment, then caught himself. “You must be mistaken, Suzumiya-san,” he said. “I just updated it this morning.”

“Check it again,” I said. “I just looked at it, too, and it’s there, plain as day.”

The class rep moved from his seat, but already, one of the girls was in front of the laminated schedule. “She’s right!” said the girl with the thick, circular glasses. “It says right here: ‘Monday, blackboard: Sakanaka and Suzumiya.’ How strange.”

The girl—Yura, I guess—wandered out of the room in a puzzled daze. The class rep squinted at the schedule, muttering to himself. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said, rubbing his temple. “It’s all on a strict rotation; I couldn’t have messed it up….”

“I guess I’ll be a little while, Kyon,” I said. “Hold the fort until I can get there, okay?”

“Of course,” he said innocently, but there was a gleam in his eye. Make no mistake—Kyon may not find schoolwork too interesting, but he’s clever. He knew something was amiss there. He could always see right through me.

I took my position at the blackboard and started beating erasers together, making a fine cloud of chalk dust. It wasn’t in my interest to make that white powder just go away. My partner on blackboard duty walked up beside me carrying two spray bottles and a bucket with white rags.

“Strange,” she said, handing me a rag. “I looked at the assignment card this morning, too, and it definitely said Yura-san was my partner. You didn’t change it somehow, did you?”

That was Sakanaka-san. She was a short-haired girl with no glasses, jewelry, or ribbons to adorn her. We’d been in the same class for several months before we actually spoke at any length. She came to the brigade asking for help with her dog, Rousseau. She thought he was spooked by some ghosts or spirits and hoped we could investigate. As it would happen, the truth was even more interesting than that, but for all Sakanaka-san knew, Yuki had exorcised Rousseau through some obscure folk remedy.

“Change it?” I echoed. “Why would you say that?”

“I just remember, about a week ago, there was a girl who made half the objects in the classroom float like they were filled with helium, and she promised that was just the beginning,” said Sakanaka-san. “Changing a cleaning assignment sheet would be pretty simple compared to that!”

The way she said that—so matter-of-fact—really surprised me. It was like she found it the simplest conclusion in the world. “No one else seems to have caught on to that,” I observed, dousing the blackboard with the spray bottle. “At least, no one’s told me if they had.”

Sakanaka-san smiled. “A few of us know. You know Miho-san—ah, Saeki-san, that is, don’t you? She’s in choir, too. She picked up on it right away.”

I had only a faint idea who she was talking about—the girl who used to sit next to Kyon, I thought. I couldn’t remember her face, though.

“Well?” Sakanaka-san turned her head, beating the erasers away from her eyes. “If you changed the schedule with your magic to talk to me, you must’ve had a good reason, right?”

I scoffed. Not a lot of people would seriously call something magic, and with such a straight face either. “It doesn’t frighten you one bit, huh?”

“Frighten?” She frowned. “No, not at all. I did lose some rice that day, though, when our lunches all floated to the ceiling.”

I winced. “Ah, sorry about that….”

“It’ll be all right,” she assured me. “Maybe you can come by one day and show Rousseau some tricks?”

I took one of the rags to the blackboard, and the faded smears of chalk started coming off. “Who knows? Apparently, I can make JJ have a real philosophical conversation with you, if you wanted.”

Sakanaka-san made a face.

“Bad idea?”

She nodded meekly.

I sighed. “Kyon would probably agree. That’s how he got his cat, after all. There we were one day, filming the movie, and the cat starts talking on the nature of communication and language, of all things!” I wrapped the rag around my fist, rubbing with the base of my palm. “And I had no idea.”

“I should’ve known,” said Sakanaka-san. “You made quite an impression on the class from the moment you introduced yourself. Suzumiya-san, you’ve always been different.”

Always, huh. I could only hope not, or else a toddler’s tantrum could’ve turned the world into chocolates and candy canes. I was that kind of child. “There’s more, actually,” I said. “Yuki and Mikuru-chan and Koizumi-kun—you remember them, right? They’re special in their own ways, too. It seems they all came to this school knowing I’d be here and what I could do.”

“Then they’re like you, aren’t they?” she observed. “They were looking for something exciting.”

I squeezed the trigger of the spray bottle, and droplets of cleaning fluid ran down the blackboard. “One would think so,” I said, “but I’m not so sure. How do you deal with that? If you think your friends might be really unhappy, what do you do?”

Sakanaka-san had a pensive expression on her face. “Well, there was one time Akino-san was upset because she saw her boyfriend with our friend Nanaka-san. Akino-san is very shy, you know, so she wouldn’t confront Nanaka-san or her boyfriend about it. She felt like she couldn’t be happy without him, so Miho-san and I took her to a workshop with a sculptor—she’s in the art club, after all, and it really helped remind her that there were other things that she enjoyed in life, too.”

It sounded like a good story, but I couldn’t feel really helped by it. All these names—Miho was Saeki, right? But the others I didn’t know. I’d probably seen these girls hundreds of times, but with those names, I had no idea who they were. “What happened with her boyfriend, though?” I asked. “Did she just let him choose Nanaka-san instead?”

“Oh, no, not at all!” Sakanaka-san waved her hands disarmingly. “It was all just a misunderstanding. He was just asking Nanaka-san’s advice on a birthday present for Akino-san. It’s amazing how the same act can be seen so differently from another perspective, isn’t it?”

Sakanaka-san, you have no idea how pertinent those words are. That’s why I liked talking to her—Sakanaka-san was, in a lot of ways, the opposite of me. If you asked her about paranormal stuff, she might express a passing interest, but it didn’t define her. She came from a good family, and she was impeccably polite. She took care of her friends, and she worried about their problems, big or small.

That’s how she convinced me to do something for the brigade—for my friends—too.

When after-school cleanup was finished, I thanked Sakanaka-san for her timely advice (though she wasn’t quite sure what she’d said that helped me), and I ran off for the club room, a plan coalescing in my mind.

  


You see, over the course of the brigade’s first year, we’d had plenty of excitement and adventures. Some of those were outsiders’ doing. We’d wandered though an abandoned mansion in a snowstorm, for instance, but for every incident like that one, there were two more where I pushed things through almost unopposed. Really, if I were in the their place, I wouldn’t have spoken up against me, either. It would run totally counter to what they were asked to do. They had to stay around me, whether they wanted to or not.

The least I could do was make it enjoyable, make it fun.

When I reached the club room, I found a familiar sight. Kyon and Koizumi-kun sat on opposite sides of the main table, engrossed in a game of Go. “You know,” Kyon began, rubbing his forehead, “I liked you better when you threw these games.”

“That _is_ what we expected,” said Koizumi-kun. “You’re not the kind of person to play games you don’t expect to win.”

“I resent that,” said Kyon. “I don’t mind a fair game at all.”

“Perhaps I should correct myself: usually, these games have proved a mere instrument for holding your attention.”

Kyon huffed. “You’re a clever bastard.”

“I do try.”

Mikuru-chan eyed the boys cautiously, serving them both new cups. “Suzumiya-san, would you like some tea?”

“In a bit,” I said, closing the door. “Guys, can I have your attention for a second?”

Koizumi-kun placed a black stone, seizing four of Kyon’s in the process and looking upon me with steadfast attention. Mikuru-chan put down the tea kettle and tilted her head. Yuki turned a page in her book, but you had to think she was listening anyway, that her focus on all things was razor-sharp. As for Kyon, he turned his chair toward me, his curiosity piqued.

“So, ah, I guess this is the first time we’ve all seen each other since the stadium on Saturday, isn’t it? I know a lot’s changed for me since then. I’m guessing it’s the same for all of you, too.”

“Nothing we can’t adapt ourselves to,” said Koizumi-kun. “I think I speak for all of us in saying that. Human beings are truly amazing creatures, and our capacity to understand new situations is what gives us strength. I have no doubt we can learn new habits or adjust old ones as needed to acclimate ourselves to this new paradigm.”

“Good!” I cried. “That’s good, but be careful, Koizumi-kun—don’t tell me too much of what I want to hear. That won’t do for my second-in-command at all, understand?”

He nodded graciously, and I went on.

“That’s all I care about, really,” I said. “Hearing what you guys really want. This brigade is about all of us, right? So we should start thinking about the future, about what the brigade will do from now on. Summer break is only a little over a month away. We could stick with another murder mystery if you guys want. I wouldn’t have a problem with that, but…”

“The brigade chief has bigger plans,” said Kyon. On my glance, he added, “It’s true, isn’t it? I know that look.”

You’re really stealing my thunder, Kyon.

“Go on,” he said. “I could never rob you of all your dramatic intensity.”

Uh-huh. I took a breath. “I think we should take a trip,” I said. “A foreign trip. The SOS Brigade around the world, if you will. Think about it: we could go to Athens for a few days and walk the halls of ancient philosophers, right, Koizumi-kun? We could stop in Jerusalem and see sites that have kept preserved and holy for thousands of years. Wouldn’t that be fun, Mikuru-chan? And Yuki, you could get a taste of literature from all over the world! Just think about spending a few hours at the Library of Congress—they have millions of books in their collection! I mean, don’t get me wrong here—it’s all just an idea. Nobody has to go if they don’t want to—”

“What about me?” His legs crossed and arms folded, Kyon sat back in his chair. “You’ve tailored this sales pitch for the others. What about this trip might appeal to me?”

Damn. Kyon was going to leave me standing there, babbling like an idiot because I hadn’t thought he would object.

“If I want to spend my vacation relaxing at home instead of on some globe-trotting adventure,” he went on, “what then?”

Aha. I grinned. “Then you’d be a liar,” I said. “I know for a fact that you’ve embraced this interesting life of being in the brigade. You can’t fool me by suggesting otherwise.”

He huffed a little bit in fake-indignation, but the corners of his mouth curled up a bit. “Well,” he said, “it does promise to be a unique vacation experience, doesn’t it? I’d worry about money…” He looked to the window, where Yuki sat, and then at me. “But perhaps I shouldn’t.”

“I like the idea, too,” said Mikuru-chan. “I’d very much enjoy seeing some landmarks from this time.”

“That’s the spirit!” I cried. “Yuki, what do you think about it?”

She flipped a page, her gaze on the book never wavering. “Opportunity,” she said.

That’s all I could’ve asked for—something we all had a part in, something we were all behind.

That’s what makes us a brigade.

  


When Yuki closed her book and activities wrapped up for the day, we’d put together an itinerary of six cities on four continents. As for when and how we’d start this adventure, those were questions to be decided another time. After all, the end of spring term was still a few weeks off. There was no hurry, and I didn’t want to make anyone stick around too long. That meeting, I felt, was only the first step in doing right by them, but there was someone else I needed to see that day.

Since middle school, I hadn’t been the most sociable creature. Outside of a certain two-week span in second year when I felt particularly like…experimenting, shall we say, I didn’t interact very much with people, and I seldom visited others’ homes or had guests of my own. Granted, I guess I’m the type of person who’ll knock on someone’s door unannounced if it suits me, but that day, I wanted to be careful about things. I dropped by a flower shop and picked up a bouquet of white chrysanthemums with a card. I puzzled over the note for a while, and ultimately, I thought it best just to write, “Sorry,” and sign it rather than delay and struggle much longer.

I was headed for a brown five-story apartment complex. I studied it from the outside. It looked to be in good shape, relatively new. Not a bad place to live at all, really.

I hiked up the carpeted stairs to the fourth floor. That’s part of getting to know a person, I think. Walk the same steps they walk. Breathe the same air they breathe. I didn’t know what exactly that would tell me about him, but I felt it was something I shouldn’t ignore.

When I reached the apartment, I rang the bell, and a familiar man answered right away. “Ah, it’s Suzumiya-chan, isn’t it? This is a surprise. Can I invite you in for tea?”

“I’d be happy to,” I said, “but I’m afraid I can’t stay.” That was a lie. I didn’t know what I’d do if I had to sit there for too long.

“Right, of course,” he said. “Busy with schoolwork no doubt. Well, let me see if he’s awake. I’m sure he’ll want to receive these gifts personally.”

I nodded respectfully, and Taniguchi’s father turned into a side hallway, leaving me at the threshold.

Under any other circumstances, a girl bringing flowers to a boy’s home has only one logical interpretation. As it was, I only felt mildly uncomfortable standing there, waiting for Taniguchi to come out. Since Wednesday, he’d had leave to stay home from school, at least until his parents felt he’d fully recovered. Since his father greeted me so politely, I could only imagine he hadn’t told them who struck him down with a lightning bolt that day. Maybe he didn’t think they’d believe him. It’d be a hard thing to imagine, even with a freak rainstorm that’d sprung up out of the blue.

You can’t buy forgiveness with a bouquet of flowers and a card, really. It’s more like a down payment, a start of making amends, if the party you’ve wronged can accept it, can find it within them to be the better person. It’s not an easy thing, but it’s what everyone hopes for when they ask for absolution.

Really, I couldn’t tell Taniguchi’s father I’d stay because I didn’t know if that boy I smote with lightning would forgive me at all.

“Hey, what’s this?” came a voice from down the hall, out of sight. “A girl here to see me? Well, it’s about time! Finally someone recognizes I’m due some pity. Someone like—” Taniguchi poked his head around the corner. “…Suzumiya?”

Some people never change, I guess. “Good afternoon,” I said, bowing. “Are you well?”

“Am I well?” He stepped out in a gray shirt and pink pajama pants—pink pajama pants with spotted _bunnies_ all over. He looked at me quizzically. “Are you really Suzumiya? Not a look-alike? Not a twin?” A strange expression came over his face. “Suzumiya’s twin sister, huh…”

“It’s really me, Taniguchi,” I said.

“How can I be sure? Suzumiya wouldn’t bring me flowers.”

“Why not?”

“Well, she just wouldn’t; not after—” He made a face. “There’s just no way you could be her.”

There was no way because Taniguchi and I had history. That’s what he must’ve thought. Well, I could still say one thing to convince him who I was, something only he and I would understand.

“Three minutes and fifty-four seconds,” I said.

His eyes went a little wider. “Oh. You _are_ Suzumiya.”

I nodded. “Guilty as charged.”

“Huh, then why…? What are you doing here? Wishing me well just for the sake of it?”

My heart skipped a beat. “Taniguchi, don’t you remember what happened?”

“Remember? Not a thing! All last week is just a total blur. I guess that’s good, right? I don’t think I’d want to remember being struck by lightning. Doesn’t sound like it was too much fun, you know? But it’s convenient. My parents feel like I shouldn’t go back to school for a while until I remember or it’s apparent I won’t. Let me tell you, that’s a good deal.”

He didn’t remember. He didn’t remember a thing. This gesture of mine—these flowers, this card—they’d be empty. They wouldn’t mean what I wanted them to mean, and I didn’t need them. To him, there was nothing to forgive, nothing worth worrying over. I could walk away, and never have to deal with him knowing.

Hah! Not a chance. I don’t run from things like that; that’s not who I am. Even if Taniguchi had forgotten, if the lightning had struck the memories from his mind, everyone else would know and remember.

I’d still remember.

“Let me see if this jogs your memory,” I said. “On Tuesday, something strange happened in class. Everything in the room that wasn’t tied or bolted down started floating to the ceiling during lunch. When it stopped, all our food and supplies fell back to the floor, and I guess it got a stain on your bag.”

“What’s this strange talk, Suzumiya?” he began. “You don’t have to go into all that just to give me flowers or anything.”

“It’s true; just ask Kyon. He’ll tell you the same thing. That’s why, on Wednesday, you came to me as I was walking up to the school gate. We got into an argument, and it was stupid. It was silly. I wasn’t in a good state of mind, so I didn’t take it particularly well. You accused me of messing up your stuff.”

He rubbed his forehead, wincing. “You’re making it sound like I caught the Suzumiya disease, talking about crazy things.”

“In the heat of that moment, you insulted Kyon, too, and that really set me off. I lost my temper. I’m sorry for that. I really am.”

“I think you’re the one who needs their head checked,” he said. “You’re making it sound like you called down that lightning bolt to strike me. That’s ridiculous.”

I offered my hand, cradling the bouquet and the card against my chest. “I can help you remember.”

“What?”

“I want you to remember; it’s not right that you don’t. You can’t understand otherwise.”

He huffed. “Well, you’re free to try,” he said, taking my hand. “It’s not like reading my palm or reciting an incantation will do anything….”

That’s what he thought, but I knew better. I could show him perfectly the scene of that day—the unnatural rain that came down in sheets around the school, even as the sun shined brightly overhead; how Taniguchi, in his slick dark green raincoat marched up to me with Kunikida behind, how Kyon ran in to break us up, yet Taniguchi laid into him, saying he was a fool for coming to my defense.

“Hey,” said Taniguchi, “what is this? Why do I…is that what…?”

Yes, Taniguchi. This is exactly what happened, for I remember. I think, even then, I realized how faithful Kyon was. He was standing up for me and everything I believed in, and that’s what angered me most about Taniguchi’s words. He could jab at me all he liked; that didn’t bother me in the slightest, but he went beyond that. He called Kyon a sick freak for hanging out with me, for liking me. I should’ve brushed that off like all the other comments, but I didn’t. Those words I took to heart, and they addled me enough to take my concentration off the unnatural rain I was causing, to make the sky clear for one precious instant.

Right before I brought the thunderbolt down.

CRACK!

It hurt me. It hurt me in my jaw, my cheek, for when I showed that scene to Taniguchi, he understood right away. I staggered, hitting my shoulder on the side wall, and the bouquet of flowers fell to the wooden floor. Taniguchi eyed his own hand like it had acted on its own. He turned it over, wiggled the fingers, made sure it really obeyed him, and it did. That’s how the human body works, after all. He rubbed a knuckle, making sure he felt what was truly there.

Taniguchi had just backhanded me across my cheek.

We both realized, at the same moment, the truth of what he’d done. I cradled my shoulder, watching him. He met my gaze with a flash of hatred and balled his fist at his side.

“You bitch,” he muttered. “You did this to me; you—” A look of fright came over him; he backed away. “This is your own fault, you know. I just reacted. I didn’t ask you to do that! I didn’t mean…”

He bolted. He ran down the hall and turned the corner. A door slammed somewhere. He was protecting himself, running from the specter of my wrath. You can’t punch someone who struck you down with lightning and expect to get away with it. That must’ve been what he was thinking.

He was afraid that what I’d done before I could do again.

I heard some hurried footsteps, so I limped out of the apartment, shutting the door behind me. I took the elevator down to street level, holding my cheek. My eye stung a little bit. It’s not natural for things to touch that. My ankle throbbed. I must’ve twisted it on the way down when he hit me. I can only imagine I looked terrible then, for when I left the building and started walking home, I caught three or four people shooting strange looks. I looked back at them, and scattered just as quickly. They ran off with quickened steps and set their eyes away—that is, anywhere but on me.

  


I’d expected too much of Taniguchi. I dumped all the information on him much too fast. I gave him no chance to come to terms with what’d happened, to accept or understand it, so I got what I deserved. That’s why I limped my way toward home. I could’ve cured my wounds with just a thought, but that would be unfair. I wanted to feel them. I thought, naÏvely, that would give me some understanding. Wounds don’t heal instantly for people. Maybe, in seeing the brigade take a new idea well, I was fooled and thought I could fix everything right away, but that wasn’t so. You have to walk off what ails you if you can and ignore the ringing in your ears, even if it’s painful and persistent.

“Hey, Stranger.”

There was a sound of rubber gripping the sidewalk. A red bicycle stopped beside me, and its rider unbuckled his helmet, peering at my face in concern.

“What happened to you?” asked Kyon. “You look…”

How do I look? Terrible, right? And what are you doing way out here? This isn’t anywhere near your house.

“I got a call a little while ago from Taniguchi,” he said, dismounting the bike. “He said you came by, asked about what happened Wednesday and if these strange things you told him were true. I had to figure out what was between his place and yours, if you even bothered to walk it. You didn’t answer your phone.”

Ringing. Hah. I thought something was incessant about that.

“Can I…?” He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, studying my features. “He hit you, didn’t he?”

I nodded, looking away.

“You could’ve really punished him for that.”

“I’m trying to do things differently,” I said.

“I know. I can tell; I could tell this afternoon with the brigade. That was a good idea, Haruhi, and you gave everyone a fair chance to say how they felt. Nagato in particular seemed really entranced with the plan.”

“How could you tell?”

“Just a hunch, I guess. But it’s like I said, right? Things are going to work themselves out as long as we work at it.”

If you say so.

He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Hey, what’s with that expression? That’s not like the Suzumiya Haruhi I know. She attacks life with boundless spirit. All this is just a hiccup, right?”

I realized what he was doing. “Kyon, what are you really doing here? It’s not for Taniguchi. You’re talking me up.”

“I was, uh—” He looked away. “I was in the neighborhood, so it wasn’t a big detour.”

Uh-huh.

“I’m serious,” he said. “I wanted to—I wanted to do something with you.”

Oh?

“Wait, that’s not what I meant! I wanted to go back to that planet you went to. Yeah, that’s it. I’m free all afternoon. It’ll be fun, right?”

“You really think so?”

“Haven’t we had this conversation before?”

I squinted, studying him, but he gave nothing away. I was hurt, and I was tired, but if there had been one thing I could ask for, it would be Kyon at my side, looking for an adventure, right? Whether that was a trip around the world or to another planet so far away you can’t see it didn’t matter. Not everyone would bike all the way out there, several kilometers from home, not knowing where you are yet hoping to find you. Kyon was doing something nice for me—offering to go somewhere on the spur of the moment. He couldn’t possibly realize what that meant to me, how much I treasured it.

The red bicycle disappeared. “Hey!” cried Kyon.

“You won’t need it where we’re going,” I said, offering a hand. “Don’t worry; it’s back at your place.”

“Is that right.” He slid his fingers between mine. “So, what’s this alien planet like?”

“Hot and heavy and utterly inhospitable to human beings.”

He made a face.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

His eyes went soft. “Haruhi…”

There was a faint whooshing sound, and the blue sky behind Kyon turned yellow and cloudy. He jolted, surprised, and scampered in place on his feet.

“It’s all right,” I assured him. “We’re here.”

He calmed down, catching his breath and holding a hand over his mouth to feel the air coming out. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” he marveled, looking around. “Asahina-san always made me close my eyes, but you wouldn’t be held back like that.”

Not a chance. Seeing the world change before your eyes is part of what makes it grand.

We stood at the edge of the Piggies’ canyon in daylight, just after both suns had risen in the east. Already, the bizarre flying creatures had begun to stir, flying from their homes in the rock face with the thunderous beating of their rotors. Instinctively, Kyon backed away when one of them came into view, but I was right behind him and kept him from running off in fright.

“They’re peaceful,” I told him. “They’re intelligent. We’re friends.”

“ ‘ _Friends_ ’?” cried Kyon.

“I kind of saved their village from a plague.”

“And set yourself up as their alien messiah?”

“Nothing like that,” I insisted. “It just sort of happened that way, but in thanks, I got to spend the whole day with them, seeing how they hunt and collect rain—uh, _acid_ , I guess—that falls from the sky. It’s really cool; you’ll have to see. It’s all right at the bottom of the canyon. Come and look over!”

He smiled. “That was fast.”

What was?

“You’re already cheered up and back to normal.”

I blushed. “That doesn’t mean we’re leaving already. This isn’t just about me.”

“I know that,” he said. “But it makes the trip worthwhile already.”

My heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t planned to go back to the Piggy planet so soon, really, and I wasn’t so sure Kyon hadn’t come up with it on an idle thought just to deflect his intentions, but already, I _was_ feeling better. I was happy. I was content. Thinking ahead, I knew Kyon would like the Piggies, and as he looked around that alien world, the wonder on his face was truly a sight. At that time more than any other, I couldn’t thank him enough for the support he gave me. 

“Kyon,” I began, “this really means a lot to me.”

He shrugged it off. “It was a good thing to do, coming here, getting our minds off anything troublesome. I don’t like worrying about things too much, you know?”

Yeah. I know that pretty well. That’s what gives me pause sometimes, knowing that if I say what’s in my heart, it might trouble you, but it’s the best thing to do, right? If we’re all trying to be more honest with each other, it’s the only thing to do.

Kyon, I think, pretty soon, I’m going to tell you—

THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-WHOOSH! A cloud of dust rose from the ground, flying between us. Though we weren’t breathing it, we both had an instinctive reaction to wave it away. There was a clicking noise.

_Am I interrupting something?_

More than you know, Rooter. More than you know. Have you been reading some girls’ manga? This timing of yours is terrible. It really kills the romantic atmosphere.

Kyon shook my shoulder, agitated. “Haruhi, I hear this clicking, but it makes me think I understand.”

“I did that,” I said.

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat, looking at Rooter, who hovered above us. “Ah, hello, great alien; I am the one called Kyon! I come in peace!”

There was a twitch in Rooter’s hovering. _Why does he talk strangely?_

“That’s a good question,” I answered, glaring at Kyon. “Kyon, this is Rooter. Rooter, Kyon. You guys should get along great.”

“And why is that?” asked Kyon.

“You’re very…similar?”

_How are we similar?_

Well, that’s because—well, you both, ah…that was awkward. I felt like, if I’d had a boyfriend before and a new one now, they were both meeting for the first time and comparing…things. Like shoe sizes.

“Let’s forget about that!” I exclaimed. “Kyon, Rooter here is practically savior of his village for finding me out here in the wilderness, and for showing me around, I gave him a little gift.”

“A gift?” asked Kyon.

_What kind of gift?_

What kind of gift? “Come on, Rooter,” I said, “you must’ve realized it by now. I gave you a piece of my power.”

_You did what?_

“Haruhi, you did _what_?” cried Kyon.

“Exactly what I said,” I told them. “Rooter, go on. Move some rocks; make a pretty picture. We can have a contest.”

_I can’t do anything like that._

“Sure you can; I gave you the power. I know what I did.”

_You must be mistaken._

Kyon stepped forward. “Haruhi, if he says he can’t, I don’t think he can. How can you even be sure you gave him that kind of power?”

I know because that’s what I intended; that’s what I meant to do. There was no way Rooter should be incapable of performing simple tricks with my powers.

Unless something happened while I was gone.

“Kyon,” I said, “take my hand.”

“Huh? What are you going to—”

THUMP-THUMP-THU—

The four rotary wings on Rooter’s back froze. He was motionless, suspended in mid-air.

“You stopped time?” asked Kyon.

Of course I did. Something isn’t right.

In a flurry of incomprehensible sounds, Rooter flew backward into the canyon. The Piggies returned to their nests and slumber. The acid clouds overhead zoomed back to the horizon, and the first of the double suns appeared to set, but then, in a flash, I caught something flying out again—Rooter, I was sure, making a morning round about the canyon, except he descended to the earth. He landed, and on the far cliff, he met someone. In a flash, I warped us there, and we saw clearly her pristine sailor uniform and perfect, flowing blue hair.

“No way,” said Kyon. “What is _she_ —”

“Wait,” I said, hushing him. “There’s more.”

Time wound back further, and Rooter began to glow. He glowed with a hot blue light and disintegrated into cubes, then nothing.

“She made him?” Kyon’s brow furrowed. “Nagato’s boss wouldn’t do that for no reason. That doesn’t make sense.”

He was right. That made no sense. The Rooter I knew before couldn’t be a construct, an alien data creature. He had relatives, friends. He didn’t say a word about my powers.

I set the clock back a second at a time, and for a moment, Rooter appeared again, with _that person’s_ fingertips touching his leg. It was a bit hard to decipher with time running in reverse like that, but I had to imagine, played forward, the story was simple and clear.

She took him away.

She found him in the morning, just after dawn. Maybe she said she was a friend of mine; she knew how to look human. She touched him, and he was gone. In his place she sent a facsimile, a substitute, a fake. She could make that impostor understand me, but she didn’t understand what I’d bestowed upon Rooter, what gift that was.

I balled my fist, walking around her frozen image, and her name came off my lips, dripping in hatred.

“Asakura…”

The sands of time flowed once more, for I wanted to see her writhe, hear her squirm. Just try to explain this, you monster. I dare you.

A harsh wind buffeted Kyon and me as air began to move once more. Asakura blinked, puzzled, but greeted us with her insane smile.

“Oh,” she said. “This is a surprise. Your friend Rooter-san and I were just having a discussion on the nature of your powers.”

“Cut the bullshit,” I said. “That’s a fake. You did something to Rooter. Where did you take him? What did you do?”

She tilted her head. “What makes you say that? Oh, I see now. You’ve been through time, haven’t you, Suzumiya-san? Then I guess this charade is no longer necessary.” She waved her hand, and the fake Rooter disintegrated. “Quite bold of you to manipulate the space and time like this. Feeling like you have all the universe in the palm of your hand?”

“Shut up! Tell me where Rooter is, now!”

“This is so unfortunate,” she mused. “We really thought you wouldn’t be back here so soon, or that our substitute would pass for him at least for a little while. Where did we go wrong? He understands your language; he has your friend’s memories. We reproduced him in every substantive detail, didn’t we?”

Kyon leaned closer to me, whispering so only I could hear. “Haruhi, be careful. She likes to talk and talk without saying anything while she pulls a knife from up her sleeve.”

A knife wouldn’t hurt me.

“Or something like that,” he said. “Either way—”

“What’s this now?” asked Asakura. “You think I can’t hear you? These ears of mine are much sharper than a human’s. I can hear the heart beating in your chest. Such a delicate piece of machinery, so full of fluid and blood, yet it keeps pumping and pounding until it has no choice but to stop. That’s how organic lifeforms are, right?”

Kyon huffed, turning around. Raising his voice, he continued. “Either way, Asakura wouldn’t wax philosophical about time-travel and biology unless there was something she wanted in talking…or something she wanted in delaying.”

“Very good,” she intoned. “You must fancy yourself quite clever.”

“And you talk too much,” said Kyon. “I don’t think you want to make Haruhi ask again. Where’s Rooter? What did you do with him?”

Asakura smiled. She opened her lips to speak, but the next sound we heard was naught but a whisper.

“Gone.”

And it didn’t come from Asakura. Between Kyon and me, from space intangible, Yuki appeared.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” said Asakura. “You know that, don’t you, Nagato-san?”

Another figure appeared at Asakura’s side: a girl with pale green hair. I’d seen her before, right? What was her name?

“Kimidori-san,” muttered Kyon. “Tell me please your boss isn’t okay with whatever Asakura’s doing.”

“I cannot,” said Kimidori-san. “For the first time since encountering Suzumiya Haruhi, the Integrated Data Sentient Entity has reached consensus to better than one part in ten billion. The actions of Asakura Ryōko here are almost uniformly sanctioned.” She looked to Yuki. “Only this one disagrees.”

“And just what action is that?” I cried. “For the last time, tell me where Rooter is before I rip the secret from you. Did you take him? Did you ask him all about me? What is it?” I turned to Yuki. “You know, don’t you? They abducted and replaced him, right?”

She shook her head.

“Then what?” I asked.

“Nagato-san, think carefully about what you say here,” Asakura began. “Who is it you’re talking to? How do you—”

That thing, with her talking, so much talking. With a wave of my hand, I silenced her. I blanked out her voice and Kimidori-san’s and anyone else who’d interrupt. It was just me, Kyon, and Yuki there, and that was all I wanted to hear.

And at last, after a moment’s contemplation, Yuki met my gaze, telling me with a single word Rooter’s fate.

“Dissection.”

Dissection?

They cut him up?

They cut him open like a frog on a biologist’s table? Like a thing to be studied, like a creature that had no right to be alive?

I could see them—Asakura and Kimidori-san. They didn’t try to move or talk, knowing I wouldn’t hear them. I’d heard Yuki clearly, though. That’s all I’d meant to do. I made it so they could be heard again, and I addressed them.

“Why? Why did you do that? For what reason?”

Asakura smiled. “Because you gave Rooter-san a gift, of course. You made him understand you, right?” Her eyes flashed. “Oh! I see now. You wouldn’t just give Rooter-san the ability to understand. That much we could process, analyze. You must’ve given him something more. You _did_ give him something more, didn’t you, Suzumiya-san? You gave him—”

WHAM! A line of white light cut across the space where Asakura had been. She flipped through the air like a gymnast, sticking a landing a few meters to the side.

The line came from Yuki. Yuki attacked Asakura—unprovoked, in the middle of a sentence!

“They are analyzing,” she explained. “The Integrated Data Sentient Entity has devoted all its capabilities to analyzing the random data associated with the modification to the creature Rooter. It believes it can gain understanding of Suzumiya Haruhi’s power. The role of Asakura Ryōko and Kimidori Emiri is to preclude all interference and secure sufficient processing time to assimilate the data.”

“They’re buying time,” said Kyon. “They’re buying time, so they can get your power for themselves!”

The faded yellow sky receded; the ground beneath us gave way. It was like that night at the stadium—surrounded by a constantly morphing, shimmering backdrop. It was a space wholly controlled by data manipulation, the space interfaces like Yuki, Asakura, and Kimidori-san preferred.

“The Integrated Data Sentient Entity has made its determination,” said Kimidori-san. “Majority consensus has been obtained. Nagato Yuki, you must desist.”

“No.”

And then, the three interfaces became a blur. They recited warped incantations. They shot spikes and penetrating columns of energy at one another. It was all I could think to do to get Kyon behind me and protect against any stray attack that might veer our way.

“Haruhi, we need to end this,” said Kyon. “We can’t let them get even a fraction of your power; we can’t risk Nagato getting hurt in the process!”

“Oh, yes, please!” Asakura appeared from the blur beside us. “You should act to protect Nagato-san! After all, she’s always protected you, right?”

She has. Big mistake trying to catch me unawares, Asakura. Now that I can see where you are, I can freeze you where you stand. Nice try, Bitch.

Her eyes peeked down, at her feet. Surely she must’ve realized the futility of trying to fight that. “Well, so much the better,” she said, smiling. “I can’t blame you for trying to fight us, but Nagato-san isn’t much better, either. She stole your powers once, didn’t she?”

I know about all of that. Don’t think that’s going to surprise me.

“But you don’t know _why_ , do you?”

“Shut up!” cried Kyon. “You’re a silver-tongued devil, and nothing you say is worth listening to! Haruhi, shut her up like before!”

“Why?” asked Asakura. “So I can’t tell her how Nagato-san stole her powers to be with you?”

Kyon and Yuki?

Yuki took my powers and sent me away, so she could have Kyon for herself?

“What a joke!” I said. “Kyon, tell her how crazy that is. Yuki wouldn’t take my powers just for that, right?”

Kyon closed his eyes and shook his head gently.

“She took your powers to make a world for him,” said Asakura. “One where she could make herself into his perfect girl, one where _you_ were far away, nowhere to be found. You don’t believe me? Ask her yourself; oh, but you did that, and she lied to your face. Tell me, how does that make you feel? Did you think you could really be friends? That you could erase a year of pig-headedness and abuse by bribing her with books and a library?”

THWAP! All that warped space shuddered. A column of white light stuck diagonally in floor. The blur of the two other interfaces fighting faded at last, for that column speared Yuki through the chest. She wasn’t human, but she bled truly. A drop of her blood splatted on the sleeve of my uniform and started to run.

“Nagato!” cried Kyon.

“You are wounded,” said Kimidori-san, standing still. “Please, desist. You need not be destroyed here. The Integrated Data Sentient Entity will still accept you, despite your defects.”

Yuki said nothing.

Just like she said nothing to me. That night, when she invited me to dinner, I thought we could make something new. I knew she’d been stressed, that she was having problems with the rest of her people. I thought it would all just take time, that when Kyon wouldn’t explain it to me, it was out of personal respect, nothing more. Maybe Kyon was hoping Yuki would trust me, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

“Desist,” Kimidori-san repeated. “I can’t hold off any longer.”

Yuki said nothing.

And I felt nothing.

“So be it.” With a placid expression, Kimidori-san spread her fingers, and they morphed into white, amorphous energy shafts.

“Haruhi!” Kyon ran in front of me, trying to catch my eye. “Haruhi, look, listen to me, please. You can’t let this happen. I can’t imagine what you’re thinking, what you’re _feeling_ right now, but you can’t let this happen. This isn’t right. Please, I’m begging you, don’t—”

“Stop, Kyon,” I said.

“But Haruhi—”

“Everybody just stop!”

Kimidori-san froze. The shimmering of our surroundings was etched in place. I walked past Kyon, who turned to watch me but didn’t follow. I went in front of Yuki. The white column suspended her body off the ground at an angle. It was like she stood straight and upright with a massive support clear through her abdomen. Her eyes followed me, but she made no expression; she didn’t even flinch as her blood trickled down the length of the shaft.

I turned to Asakura. “All your speeches and machinations—what were they for?” I demanded. “To turn me against my friends? To turn me against Yuki? To make me use my powers in such a reckless, haphazard way that you could outstrip me with my own abilities? After what you did to Rooter, what you did at the stadium and tried to do here, you think I’ll _listen_ to you? That I’d betray a friend? DO YOU THINK I’M THAT STUPID?”

I shook, saying those words. I shook because I knew I was telling a lie. Standing by Yuki was the right thing to do—Kyon didn’t need to argue long to convince me of that—but it still hurt. It hurt because Yuki, for all we’d been through, couldn’t trust me. She _knew better_ than to trust me. I’d say all I could to protect her, despite that, but that might never be enough.

“It is what it is,” said Asakura. “We saw no other choice. A being with power such as yours couldn’t be counted on to tolerate our presence forever. Over the lifetime of the universe to coexist, conflict was inevitable. The Integrated Data Sentient Entity is eternal, after all. You can’t escape our gaze. We’re everywhere.”

I marched up to her, putting on my prettiest smile, a grin meant to be just as creepy as hers. I circled around her, and in her ear, I whispered the only response she deserved.

“Not anymore.”

Her expression wavered subtly. I wouldn’t call it surprise, for though she had a reaction and tried to express it, she didn’t understand what it truly signified: fear. They were afraid of me. They always had been, and they knew no other choice than to act on that fear. For all the social mannerisms and customs Asakura could imitate, she didn’t know how to emulate fear.

Even though it was the emotion she and her Entity knew best.

I dissolved her starting with her toes—Kimidori-san, too—yet all throughout, Asakura smiled. “It’s all right,” she assured us. “You won’t miss me, but be good to Nagato-san, won’t you? She was always more important to me, so I’m counting on you, okay? Thanks!”

There was a blue haze around us, for I wouldn’t let them dissipate and recede. I rubbed my thumb and forefinger together, and in my hand materialized an object from my past: a sparkling blue marble, a memento from a distant friend. Disappearing into oblivion was too good for these creatures. Better, I felt, to make their punishment truly eternal. The marble sucked in that blue haze. It came not just from Asakura and Kimidori-san but everywhere. From the sky. From the floor. From everyplace I could see, and with each bit of data the marble absorbed, it shined a little brighter—a sure sign of how horrible that prison would be.

The white column released Yuki, letting her flop to the floor. Kyon went to her side, helping her to her feet, and they watched with me.

We watched the marble until the last hint of blue around us was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hideki Yukawa was the first Japanese winner of the Nobel Prize for predicting the existence of the pion particle. Enrico Fermi lends his name to a broad class of particles called fermions, among a host of other notable achievements. Erwin Schrödinger’s liking for the girls he tutored can be read in _The Age of Entanglement_.
> 
> Anti de Sitter spaces are sometimes used to describe a universe in which space collapses over time, and the ultimate fate of the universe is a “big crunch.”
> 
> To my readers thus far, thank you for your continued attention and comments. Haruhi’s long journey of discovery will soon come to a close, however, for the final chapter is already written, and that is what I will bring to you next. I hope that and the epilogue provide a satisfying conclusion to this story.


	10. The Resonance

All my life, I’ve predicated my approach to living on the idea that the world and the people in it should be interesting. When I was younger, I believed that to be implicitly true. I thought my friends and classmates and family were entirely fascinating people, so I never looked any further. In middle school, I lost faith in that and withdrew. I became sullen and irritable. I was angry that other people didn’t see what I saw, that they could go on living their lives ignorant of how utterly common their lives were. Even after I met John Smith, a lot of that outlook didn’t change. It wasn’t until Kyon came along and gave me the idea for the brigade that I really started to think there _were_ exciting people again, that it wasn’t so bad if you weren’t one of them. Just their existence should be enough for a fun and amazing world.

As I held the blue marble between my fingers, watching it sparkle, I had to wonder, though: for all the adventures I’d conceived of, grand plans for meeting strange and unusual creatures, holding an entire alien race in the palm of my hand wasn’t one of them. Having to banish billions upon billions of minds to that prison—there was nothing fun about that. When I looked into the marble, I felt I could sense them somehow, feel what they were thinking—that they were plotting, scheming to escape somehow; that they were frightened beyond all comprehension. Maybe it was real; maybe it was just my imagination. Either way, I could never look into it too long, lest the unfathomable abyss of the Entity somehow stared back into me.

“Not possible,” said Yuki. “The boundary of the sphere is opaque to data. It encloses a symmetric anti-de Sitter space, holding an arbitrary amount of data in a sealed environment. The Integrated Data Sentient Entity cannot perceive you unless you allow it.”

And I can’t sense it, either?

She shot me a look, as if to say, quite plainly, I can do whatever I want in principle. I should know better than to ask such silly questions.

In the aftermath of the battle with the interfaces, the three of us had retired to Yuki’s apartment. To be quite honest, there was a lot on my mind, some questions I wanted to ask, but when we arrived, Mikuru-chan and Koizumi-kun were waiting at the door. It seemed Mikuru-chan’s people detected the disturbance in time caused by me winding the clock backward and forward so much. They knew where I’d go and when. That was just as well, really. It gave the five of us a chance to reconvene and reflect.

“It is quite remarkable,” said Koizumi-kun, eying the blue marble. “To think so many creatures could fit in such a small volume, even with Suzumiya-san’s power accounting for it. I must wonder—does the density of the Integrated Data Sentient Entity in this sphere surpass that of the neutron degeneracy limit?”

Yuki nodded, saying nothing. The four of them sat at the table. I’d volunteered to stand. I couldn’t sit still, really. They were talking about all sorts of things. What did having the Entity out of the picture mean for that Sky Canopy Dominion of aliens? Would they try something else to get at us, to get at me?

I didn’t even want to think about that. More aliens with ulterior motives and agendas? No thanks. I wanted to push all of that out of my mind, but the others were persistent in addressing the situation. Really, I understood what they were doing—Koizumi-kun, Kyon, Mikuru-chan, and Yuki. It was damage control. They were talking, thinking, trying to figure out what to do. It was what they’d always done when I threw a wrench into the way things were. That much I could tell. They were very comfortable doing it.

But for all that was said—about Asakura and Rooter and Kimidori-san—not a word was uttered about a cold winter day last December. When there are so many secrets about, it’s interesting what’s the last to be revealed. At last, I understood why Kyon would threaten Yuki’s bosses with total erasure if they even hinted at doing anything to punish her. Kyon chose to be here. I couldn’t forget that. The conclusion was obvious:

If Yuki made herself into someone he might want, the only reason we were there, talking in Yuki’s apartment, was because he rejected her.

Or at least, he couldn’t find it in him to stay there and leave the rest of us flapping in the wind.

As I paced around the table that afternoon, I tried to catch Yuki’s eye, to understand something in how she might look back at me, but her stare was fixed forward. That could’ve meant any number of things—that she didn’t want to talk to me, that she was too uncomfortable to do so or feared what I might glean from her if she looked back. When the discussion turned to how the time-travelers didn’t expect the Entity to be bottled up in a marble cage, I interrupted.

“Guys,” I said, “it’s getting late in the day. It’s close to dinnertime, and I don’t know if we want to impose on Yuki for that. We can wrap up talking about all this tomorrow, right?”

Kyon shot me a look at that, as if to say it couldn’t be too much of an imposition if, for example, I were to make a few meals appear out of nowhere instead, but if that’s what he was thinking, he was sharp enough not to say it aloud. Three of us headed back to the threshold, changing our slippers for shoes. I say _three_ because, well, I didn’t feel like I could leave just yet.

“Are you all right?” asked Mikuru-chan. “Is something the matter? You seem a bit, um, quiet today, Suzumiya-san.”

Oh, I’m fine, really. Just tired. I have a lot on my mind.

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll bring some new tea, then?” she offered. “Something to pick up all our spirits?”

Aw, that’s sweet of you, Mikuru-chan. Come here; let’s have a nice, warm hug!

“EH? Ah…”

I took her into my arms quickly, careful not to squeeze her too hard or anything like that. She didn’t seem to mind that way, and when we parted, she had a surprised but easy smile.

“Well, um, Nagato-san, I’ll be going now!”

By the corner of the entryway, Yuki nodded, and as Koizumi-kun and Kyon repeated the same, her reaction didn’t change. Kyon was the last to leave, lingering at the door while he sized up the situation.

“Haruhi, I’m sorry about not telling you when I had the chance,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it,” I told him.

“I can explain…I think.”

“I know you can. I just want to talk to Yuki for a bit.”

He seemed to accept that. “All right. See you later then.”

Of course.

With a nod acknowledging both of us, he shut the door behind him.

“Yuki,” I said, “am I overstaying my welcome?”

She said nothing.

“You know what Asakura told me, right?”

She nodded.

“Can we talk about that?”

She turned the corner and silently led me back into the main room.

“Ah, where—”

“Please sit,” she said. “I will return.”

I dusted off one of the cushions as Yuki went into the bedroom. When she came back, she carried the stereo piece and CD case I’d seen before. She plugged the set into an outlet on the wall furthest from me, and the cord was just long enough for her to place the stereo beside her as she sat.

“What’s with that?” I asked.

“You have questions,” she said.

Yeah, as a matter of fact, I just asked one.

“With my current personality data, I am incapable of expressing myself adequately to answer them. The audio data on this disc contains a program to temporarily modify my personality data. Over time, I have attempted to assimilate this data into myself.”

“You can’t do it all at once?” I asked.

She stared at me. “It is not preferred.”

Not preferred by who?

“The program will last only three minutes and eighteen seconds. After that, it must be terminated to prevent uncontrolled assimilation into my personality data, and I may be unable to answer your questions in a satisfactory manner.” She loaded the disc into the stereo. The crystal case she held in her hands, and it glowed. It morphed in a blue, shimmering light. Two opposing edges remained roughly the same, but near the front edge, the glowing matter merged and flattened, forming two glass lenses.

Glasses. She made a pair of gray rimmed glasses.

“What’re those for?” I asked.

“Necessary,” she said, putting them on.

Necessary for what? Personality data changes how you see?

She closed her eyes, and a button on the stereo clicked. There was a faint, faint sixty-Hertz hiss, but the ringing overtones of a piano drowned it out. It was a classical piece in three—slow, deliberate, and sedate.

Yuki opened her eyes, and she blinked. She let out a breath, licked her lips, and looked around idly, like she was taking the look of the room in. Gone was her inscrutable, statuesque gaze.

She was acting like a person.

“It’s been a while,” she said. So quiet she was. Though she never spoke loudly, her words always had some intensity to them, some understated force. Here, her voice was higher, softer, truly like a whisper. “I’ve been busy ever since you discovered what you could do, Suzumiya-san. I haven’t had the chance to learn from this experience in some time.”

Wow. Are you really Yuki? I mean, you look like her. You sound like her, a little bit, but your body language, your movements—they’re all wrong!

She started tensing up under my gaze; she must’ve realized how intently I was studying her. It was kind of cute, actually. Amazing how much behavior could play into your perception of a person. Give her glasses and a book in her hand, and you’d have an archetype of a character, right? A real, human bookworm girl.

Just the kind of girl Kyon might care for.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” I said. “You—all this—this is what you made yourself into for Kyon, right?”

Her expression darkened. She seemed to put on a year of age in just that second as she nodded regretfully. “At the time, I didn’t understand. I thought I was experiencing an error that I couldn’t correct, no matter how I tried. It wasn’t until I developed this program and experienced these sensations again that I realized the truth: I’d _wanted_ to take your powers and change things. The first time I played this disc, I cried. I couldn’t cry before, but I wept so much!”

“Because of Kyon?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Because I remember. I remember everything, perfectly, for hundreds of years.”

August. She was talking about August—a loop of time I created, wiping everyone’s memories when it repeated, save for Yuki’s. To a normal person, what would that do? To an alien interface trying to emulate a person, what would that do?

“Even when he broke that loop, it was the same. I was sent to observe, to maintain balance. The more I wanted things to change, the more I was at odds with my task. That was the error I experienced: I was never meant to want something beyond what I was told to do, but I did. I _felt_ something I wasn’t designed to feel, and I was powerless to explore it, except…” She looked away. “…except with your unwilling help.”

“If you’d asked,” I began, “I’d have done what I could. Granted, I didn’t know then, but still, we’re friends, right?”

She looked at me with a puzzled expression. “Yes, of course. But, um, I did want to apologize to you. I wasn’t sure I could the way I am.”

Apology accepted, Yuki. Coming from such a quiet girl, those few minutes were the most I’d ever heard her speak. It must’ve taken a lot of courage and trust to show me this alternate version of herself, this person she wanted to become in bits and pieces.

But there was still a question lingering on my mind, something I wanted to get to the heart of, for while everything else fit, one nagging issue stood apart like a misplaced piece of a jigsaw puzzle. “Can I ask you something else?” I began.

She nodded earnestly.

“When you made that world for Kyon, why did you send me to Kōyōen Academy?”

“Ah, I didn’t want to change his memories, but I knew if you were close, he’d talk to you right away about John Smith and not see anything about that world.”

“Because anyone’s first gut reaction would be to fix the world when something’s gone wrong,” I said.

She shook her head. “That’s not all.”

No?

She closed her eyes tightly, a pained expression on her face. “I resented the rest of the Entity for giving me no chance to change things, but they were the only others like me. I couldn’t truly hate them. I did what was needed of me, always, and I was needed quite a bit because I was commanded to, but they weren’t the only ones to command me.”

I reached across the table. “It’s okay now, Yuki; things can change. They’ll be different now, right? We can make a difference…”

My fingertips brushed her hand, but she tensed up and recoiled.

“Don’t!” she cried. “Please don’t touch me.”

“I’m sorry!” I said. “I just thought—I mean, as your friend, I’m going to do everything I can to—”

“Stop!”

“Stop what?”

“Stop saying that word!” she cried. “You order us around when we can’t say no; even _he_ obeys your orders without question so much. I don’t understand…”

“Yuki—”

“You call yourself a friend, but you’ve never been interested in who I am—just who you _thought_ I was!”

Who did I think she was?

A quiet little bookworm girl who’d never complain, who’d go along with every adventure because, in my mind, she had nothing better to do? Because she was desperate for a place to belong?

You can’t be much more wrong about a person when you don’t recognize they’re an alien, but even if she hadn’t been—if she’d been an ordinary human—Yuki would still be dead on the mark about me. I had this image of who she was in my head, and I cheerfully threw away anything that contradicted that notion until I couldn’t anymore.

Who wouldn’t call that kind of relationship a sham, a fake? But still, to hear those words come from her—the girl who said so little had passionately condemned me. It was like a dozen ice picks had stabbed at my heart.

Yuki went very pale. Her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth, aghast. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean—I get carried away like this still! I didn’t…”

She went silent, recognizing the futility of apologizing for words that had already been said. The music began to slow, single piano notes ringing truly from the speakers. Yuki curled her fingers, looking away, and whispered to herself one final thought.

“Even so, he did choose you.”

A final D major chord sounded, and the electronic hiss of the speakers cut out.

And like a robot doll with a switch flipped, the shy, vulnerable, human-like Yuki disappeared. The one I knew better had taken her place. She dissolved the glasses back into a CD tray. She unplugged the stereo and neatly packed the disc away. She went back into the bedroom like I wasn’t even there.

“Good night, Yuki,” I said.

She didn’t answer.

My guess is she didn’t know how to.

  


I left Yuki’s on foot, not knowing where to go. Stuffed in my shoe, I found a pale, lavender bookmark—a memento, I gathered, that Yuki wanted me to hold on to. There was writing on one side, a combination of characters rarely seen.

“Resonance.”

The only resonances in my mind were the harmonious overtones of D major from when Yuki’s alter ego confessed her true feelings to me.

I was stifling her.

I’d taken her only family away.

I’d assumed she was my friend without ever giving her a choice.

I’d been doing that for a year. That’s a long time to be miserable, a long time to scratch and claw at the inside of your own stoic prison, at a body you live in but can’t use to express how you truly feel. All along, I could’ve been helping her do that, but instead, I was worried about baseball tournaments and murder mysteries.

I was worried about Kyon.

I opened my phone, thumbing through the list of numbers. You can probably guess where I stopped to dial.

“Yo,” said Kyon. “How was your talk with Nagato?”

“It was all right,” I decided. “Listen, can I see you?”

“Huh?”

“Anywhere you want is fine. The place isn’t important to me.”

“What happened?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Is it a bad time? You’re having dinner?”

“No, no, I’m still free. I’ll meet you in the park?”

The park, huh? That was a good place. Surrounded by nature, you could see how plants and animals went about their days. They grew over time. They sustained themselves on sunlight, or by foraging or feasting on others. Their drives were instinctive or automatic. So few animals are even thought to feel.

I picked out a wooden bench by a streetlamp and waited patiently, tapping my shoes on the ground. It was a private, secluded niche, and I realized that Kyon might not find me right away in that place, but to my surprise, he showed up there on his bike without having to ask where I was.

“Ah, it’s funny you should pick this place,” he said. “When Asahina-san sent me back to Tanabata, this is where we started.”

He tied up his bike on the lamppost and sat down. That was a comfort. Just having him near me, even while we were silent, while the summer breeze rustled through the bushes, it helped. Whatever I said, Kyon would think hard about it. He wouldn’t just dismiss my thoughts as fleeting fancies. He would listen and do his best to answer, if he could. That’s what I needed from him.

“I take it Nagato said something unexpected?” he asked.

I leaned back, looking to the sky. “She just told me the truth. I can’t blame her for that. She showed me a glimpse of who she wants to be.” I looked at him. “Who she made herself to be, that time.”

He let out a heavy breath, shaking his head. “I still dream about her.”

You what?

“Nightmares, I guess you could call them,” he explained. “Though that Nagato wasn’t the one we know, I couldn’t help but feel for her. She wanted me to stay there so badly, and I rejected her to her face.”

I could only imagine what that scene must’ve been like: Kyon having to put on his coldest, most heartless face against that cute, adorable Yuki, spurning her to go after time-travelers and espers in a world where she wasn’t so human but was trying to be.

In a world where I would be.

“I really hoped not to expose that part of her before she was ready. I hoped she would tell you herself, yet I felt I had no place to encourage her to do so. Feh.” He shook his head, admonishing himself. “I chickened out of a bad situation and only made things worse for it.”

“Yuki’s okay, though,” I assured him.

“And you?”

Me?

“How are you holding up, Brigade Chief?”

“I’m…holding up, I guess.”

“You guess? No way. This is just a hiccup for Suzumiya Haruhi and her brigade, right? A minor bump to flatten under our heels as we go toward a new adventure, toward something exciting, yeah?”

Not if Yuki hates me.

“Haruhi, please, there’s no way Nagato said that.”

I shook my head. “She tried to take it back, but she couldn’t. She hates how I boss her around, that she has to be here to watch me and not do anything she wants.”

“You took care of her when she was sick, remember?”

“Are you sure that really happened?” I asked him. “Or did that disappear in some divergent timeline, in something else I did without knowing about it?”

“You and I remember; Nagato remembers. That’s enough.”

“It isn’t,” I said, staring straight ahead. “It’s not just Yuki. Mikuru-chan, the older one? She hates herself for what she’s doing, how she has to play with us to protect time. She broke down crying, and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to say. Who do you think she’s having to protect time from? And Koizumi-kun—he doesn’t _want_ to be an esper! But even if everyone else decided not to be, he’d keep doing it because he doesn’t have anything left. This isn’t good, Kyon. This isn’t fun. This isn’t the way things should be. I want to do something for them, but I don’t know what. I may never know what…”

“No, Haruhi, don’t—” He left the bench, walking in front of me, and kneeled on the stone walkway. He placed himself squarely in my gaze. “Look at me: don’t say things like that.”

“It’s fine,” I told him. “It doesn’t bother me as much I thought it would. It hurts, but there’s only one thing I need in this world, really. One person.”

“Who’s that?”

I reached out and ran the fabric of his tie between my thumb and forefinger.

“Oh, no, Haruhi…” He took my hand and eased it to the bench. “It’s been a rough week. This isn’t the time to say things you haven’t had a chance to think about, that you might not really mean later on!”

“I’ve had plenty of time to think, and I’m always serious.”

“I know that.”

“And you’re still touching my hand.”

He made a face, shooting glances left and right. It’s okay, Kyon. No one can see us here. No one’s watching. No one but us will know what we do here.

What I want to do with you.

I leaned forward while he was distracted, and when our lips touched, it felt familiar. I knew right away that night with the Celestial was real and true. It’s a strange sensation, feeling such warmth on your lips. Can you tell if someone loves you by the way it feels when you kiss? I don’t know, but Kyon didn’t pull away from me. His hand tightened around mine. His breath tickled on my face.

That was all I needed. I pushed, ever-so-lightly, on his shoulder, and opened my eyes. His mouth hung open a little bit, the surprise evident on his face, but he didn’t look away.

“I know that might’ve been more than you ever wanted,” I whispered to him. “I just felt you should know, so when it seems like I depend on you more than anyone else, you know it’s because I do.”

Kyon hardly made a sound—just a small scratching in his throat, like whatever words that might come out got stuck there. Under his awestruck gaze, I scooted off the bench, and with quick steps, I made for the exit path. Better to walk, I thought, so if he couldn’t find anything to say, I could let my heartbeat slow and steady itself with each stride.

And if a word did come to his lips…

“Haruhi!”

…I might still be there to hear him.

I turned, and he was standing, straight and tall, an air of confidence about him. “You’re wrong, Haruhi,” he said. “That’s not more than I ever wanted.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“In fact,” he said, “that’s not nearly enough!”

I shook; I trembled. My skin came alive with tingling. I didn’t think I’d feel like that! Maybe I never expected him to respond so boldly, or I psyched myself out of thinking that he might, but his reassuring smile was all I needed to see. It convinced me that something had changed between us, and though it filled me with anxiety and made my heart flutter, I knew it was good.

I ran to him, and he caught me. He picked me up and let my momentum carry us around, like a child whose weight spins a carousel.

“How’s that?” I asked him, choking up. “Is that enough?”

“It’s a start,” he said. “A fine start.”

A fine start for something new. I liked that thought. I liked it a lot.

“You knew, didn’t you?” I asked, my voice muffled in his jacket and shirt. “Ever since that night last spring.”

“Yeah, I guess I did. I tried my best to ignore it, to keep myself from thinking about that night, from watching you and letting my mind get carried away.”

“What stopped you?”

“Who knows? I mean, at first, the thought of just standing up to your energy seemed impossible, but later, I found a much better reason: as long as you didn’t know about yourself and I did, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“That’s a good reason,” I told him.

“Mm. So when I caught myself thinking about you—about how cute you are when you smile genuinely, about the smoothness of your skin—I just pushed it away. I said to myself it was just a natural observation, that anything I thought had nothing to do with me. It’s funny how we tell ourselves these things, isn’t it?”

It is funny. We all do it, everywhere, to divorce ourselves from what we really want.

And no one makes people do that more than me.

I pulled away.

“Haruhi?”

He was right; we do it all the time. Yuki convinced herself she was experiencing an error, and that took away the need to understand or change it until it was too late. Koizumi-kun chose to stay, ignoring a past he couldn’t recapture. Mikuru-chan dedicated herself to protecting the timeways and justified the consequences as necessary and good until she could lie to herself no longer. It pained me to think of how my presence and influence had caused all my friends to deceive themselves out of necessity, but none of that horrified me as much as to think Kyon had done the same. Why? Because I intimidated him? Because he had power over me and chose to be just rather than indulge himself, rather than be happy?

All because I had these powers—the ability to remake the world…and to twist and deform your relationships with people, with everyone you care about.

“I’m sorry,” I told him, backing away. “I need to go.”

“What? Wait a minute—Haruhi, what do you need me to say?”

Nothing, nothing! You’ve said enough that I can’t get it out of my head!

“This isn’t a joke; I swear!”

I turned and ran.

“I mean it, Haruhi. You want me to say I’m in love with you? Haruhi, I’m in love with you!”

Every honest expression of his heart was like a dagger to mine. To have those feelings wash over me was a cold reminder of how they’d been bottled up and repressed for so long.

I wiped the scene of that park to blackness, for that was the only way I could think of to make those emotions subside.

  


No matter who I talked to, in every place and time, no one knew how or why I’d gained these powers. Even Kyon could only guess. Four years before—that was the key. It must’ve happened sometime in the year I’d started middle school. Since I couldn’t know when it happened, I could only explore the next best thing. What drove me down this path—to North High, to Kyon and the brigade—was an act much easier to comprehend.

It happened on a warm, muggy night in July. A young girl was scaling the gate to her school when a strange high-school boy called out to her. He carried an older girl on his back, someone he described as his sister, which the younger girl thought very suspicious. Threatening to call the cops on him, she convinced the high-school boy to help her draw an alien symbol in chalk, or so she thought. In hindsight, he might not have needed much convincing at all.

I knew all this because I remembered, but what the younger me and Kyon couldn’t have known was that I watched them, too. That moment—that Tanabata—started it all for me, and it was the only place I could think to go for privacy, for the chance to ponder and reflect.

I made myself invisible to them, and I learned things I’d forgotten. Why did I steal a key when I was small and nimble enough to climb the gate on my own? Did I know, even before that night, that I should expect help?

Kyon laid Mikuru-chan next to the toolshed, drawing and drawing in compliance with my younger self’s every command. He never complained. He worked tirelessly, even as I yelled and shouted when he smudged a line or made a mistake. Such a pity I didn’t realize that about him sooner.

Were it not for Kyon’s honest answers about the very aliens, time-travelers, and espers he’d come to know, would I ever have come to North High at all? Would I have made people like Yuki, Mikuru-chan, and Koizumi-kun come to me elsewhere? Even without Kyon?

Guh. Just thinking that gave me a headache. The mechanics of time travel don’t become easier to understand just because you can manipulate the universe, let me tell you. Really, I don’t know what I expected to figure out, watching myself and Kyon on that humid summer night. When the drawing was done, my younger self ran off without so much as a kind word in thanks. Kyon woke Mikuru-chan up, and with a strange purple card in hand, he led her toward Yuki’s. All that was left on the grounds of East Middle School was my message, a message received long before it’d ever been sent.

I closed the gate and locked it, since my younger self had left it open for Kyon to leave, and he’d had no way to lock it on his own. From the sidewalk, I looked in, and to be honest, I had no idea where to go or what to do next. Go back to Kyon after I’d run from him, unable to explain what had horrified me so? Go to the others, whose lives I’d bent and twisted irrevocably, unable to promise that anything would change?

“I know there are persistent thoughts that trouble you,” said a low, raspy voice. “But no matter what you feel right now, you can’t think yourself alone.”

There was a steady, rhythmic _clinking_ sound on the pavement as a rubber-tipped steel cane impacted the sidewalk. The old woman in the red yukata approached on an otherwise empty street.

“I know you’re here, Young Lady,” she called out, stopping. “Invisible you may be to all eyes but your own, but that doesn’t change what I know.”

I closed the padlock on the gate and walked in front of her, appearing from nothing. “What is it this time?” I demanded. “Will you time-travelers always know where I am and when?”

She chuckled. “Not at all. I didn’t know you were here thanks to some future technology or anything like that.”

From her hunched stature, she let her cane fall, and it clanked noisily on the sidewalk. She stood up straight and tall, pulling out a hairband that’d bound her gray hair. Her squinting eyes went wide, and her wise, skeptical expression gave way to a kind smile.

“I know because you told me so,” she said in a smooth, clear voice. “I know because you wanted me to, Suzumiya-san.”

That hair, that smile—age had been a lot kinder than she’d let on, for in that instant, I recognized her right away.

“You—you’re Mikuru-chan, too!”

“That’s right,” she said, beaming. “Oh my, you don’t know how difficult it’s been, playing this part. I feel a bit like an actress! I always wanted to try that, but I never had the—” She coughed, rubbing her throat vigorously. “Oh dear, that voice really hurt to do. I hope you didn’t mind it, but I thought if I spoke normally, you’d find me out right away.”

“But why?” I cried. “Why would you pretend to be someone else? You told me—the other you, the older, er, I mean the middle one—she said you were dangerous. You’d become a rogue time-traveler. Why?”

She tilted her head. “Don’t you remember? I realized what a terrible burden time-traveling was that day—not just for me but for everyone I interacted with, for anyone I called a friend. You see it here, don’t you—how fragile the timeline is? What Kyon-kun did in this time with your younger self is a paradox. It’s a small part of a larger contradiction, and it can’t happen. Every time the timeline repeats through travel, the events can occur differently. That’s a quantum phenomenon, and it’s unavoidable. Do you know what that concept’s called?”

I fingered the bookmark in my pocket. “Resonance, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. Nagato-san wanted you to be aware of it, so you would be prepared for the choice you still have to make.”

A choice—she told me before, didn’t she? About a choice?

“The resonance effect causes timequakes, for the universe attempts to mend itself by working through every possible outcome until the paradox is resolved—at least, that is the theory. Maybe the universe realized paradoxes could be accepted, if something or someone could play with probability and force the outcome that she wanted. That could be the reason you exist.”

…you want to explain that to me again?

“Oh, I’m sorry! Silly me, I think I’ve taken too much from Koizumi-kun’s theories. Well, the reason isn’t important; the effect is. Suzumiya-san, that is the ultimate expression of your power—the ability to resolve paradoxes or leave them in place if you choose. Whatever you decide, it will be reality; the resonance will collapse.”

“And the choice I should make is the one that ensures your future?” I asked.

She stared at me, her mouth hanging open for just a second before she recovered her wits. “No, Suzumiya-san, you misunderstand—I’ve broken laws, gone against the ways of my people, so that you could make the choice that fits you best. All along, the four of us conspired to keep you happy, to keep you from destroying or remaking the world. Even when you grew into a person who wouldn’t do that on a whim anymore, we always tried to do what you asked.”

“Even Kyon?” I asked.

“Ah, I think Kyon-kun’s reasons were different. He wouldn’t placate you for no reason. He truly wanted to see you become a better person and be at peace, but the rest of us weren’t so…altruistic in our motives, even when we called you a friend, and after you learned about your powers—well, in hindsight, I don’t feel convinced we ever gave you the chance to choose what you wanted. That’s why I’ve done this, Suzumiya-san. You reached out to me. You made me realize what I was doing, and I can’t thank you enough for that. This is the only way I can repay you—by helping you confront and understand both the bad and the good about your abilities, so you can make the best choice for yourself and all of us.”

I shook my head. “I still don’t understand,” I told her. “What choice am I supposed to be making?”

“Why did you come to this time?”

To think. To try to see what I might’ve forgotten.

To understand why I had these powers that changed everything.

“No one but you can learn where and when that happened,” she said, “but all you must do is wish yourself there, and that’s where you’ll be.”

“And then?” I asked her.

“After that, we may still know each other, but we might not,” she said. “Either way, I’ll be satisfied, knowing you’ve made your choice in good faith. This is what I’ve lived for, Suzumiya-san. I know you’ll do the right thing.”

The time and place I gained my powers. I couldn’t imagine what that would be like, but I wanted to know. That much I felt without a shadow of a doubt. Mikuru-chan’s wrinkled face and warm smile was the last image I saw before I wiped the scene of that Tanabata night away.

  


At the time, I didn’t really understand what Mikuru-chan was saying—about resonance and paradoxes and any of that. It was shocking enough just to see her there, to realize who she was. She had to be at least seventy years old, maybe older still if future technology had anything to say about it. To think she would spend decades undoing her people’s work just for me? Let’s be honest here: I’d done nothing to deserve that kind of loyalty, not from her. Still, there she was—asking me to consider a choice I couldn’t fathom.

I didn’t understand it even when I found myself on another muggy summer night, watching a girl across the street as she stood before her own doorstep, gazing at the twinkling pinpricks in the dark sky.

“Kitten?” The door behind her cracked open. “Dinner’s on, Kitten,” said her father. “Your mother’s tried something new this time, so…remember to be polite.”

She stared at the horizon in silence.

“You really need to come in,” her father insisted.

“Just one more minute?” she asked idly.

“One minute,” he warned. “That’s all.”

The door shut.

She was a small, stubborn little girl who stared intently at the two stars that stood apart, lovers separated by a heavenly river. Orihime and Hikoboshi. What did she want from them? That a message she sent be heard? That a wish for something impossible be granted to make the Earth spin ’round the wrong way?

No. While she yearned for something so spectacular, she’d convinced herself no such miracle would happen. I knew because I remembered. I knew exactly what day that was. The facts made it abundantly clear:

Mikuru-chan’s people couldn’t travel further back than my first year in middle school.

She’d said the closed loop of Kyon going back to Tanabata was just part of a greater paradox.

What drove me to draw that symbol was something that happened the day before—a dream I thought it was, being yanked into a dark netherworld to confront an eldritch shadow.

My shadow.

That is the paradox, the reason I’m a contradiction. Maybe something else gave me powers the first time, but ever since, the universe itself had been unstable for my existence. We’d gone back and back endlessly, running in circles that had no way out, and there were only three solutions to that continuing resonance of possible futures.

I could let the universe be until it smoothed out its contradictions. Maybe that would happen, or maybe time-travelers would continue to interfere, making that impossible.

Or, I could close the loop once and for all, welding the chain of causality together like God and guaranteeing that all would turn out the way I’d seen—with my friends all yearning for what they couldn’t have, what they’d denied themselves.

Or, I could shatter the loop instead and give us all the chance for a better past, a better future.

The girl across the street let out a frustrated sigh, turning the knob on the front door, and when it shut, I draped the world in a starless sky. I willed myself to her bedroom—my bedroom—and waited for the girl who wanted something amazing to creep up the stairs in wonder and fright. I wouldn’t leave the past to quantum chance. That much I dismissed right away, but beyond that, the question truly puzzled me. Whatever I did, I’d be forcing a single history on people—whether it was the history I knew and remembered or something else. How could I consider giving the brigade a different life, one they had no choice or say in? How could I shove upon them the past I knew instead, one they’d never embraced or wanted at all?

I was truly unqualified to make that decision on my own. For guidance, I turned to the person I’d always relied on most, whose counsel I valued above anyone else’s.

“I’m here, Haruhi.”

Not everyone would react so calmly to being shot four years into the past, but for Kyon, I guess it was nothing too surprising. He’d appeared behind me, and I turned, facing his voice. He eyed the room intently.

“I don’t know _why_ I’m here, though I guess I could come up with a few theories.”

“I need your advice,” I said.

“You do?”

The doorknob turned, and at the threshold, a middle-school girl with a yellow ribbon in her hair stopped dead in her tracks.

“Whoa, what the—who are you people?” she cried. “What are you doing in my bedroom? You can’t use it for any sick fooling around! Find your own place!”

Kyon glanced between the two of us, unable to believe his eyes. “What is this? What does this mean?”

“Welcome to the past, Kyon,” I said. “This is the day before Tanabata, the day before you two would’ve met.”

“What are you doing?” he demanded, pulling me aside. “This is dangerous! I don’t even know how many ways this could break time, Haruhi!”

“Who gave you permission to call me by name?” said the middle-school girl. “If you’re talking to me, you shouldn’t be looking at your friend when you do it!”

There it was—that commanding, take-charge spirit. Such an attitude had defined me for so long, as if to give me power over a world I thought needed to listen to me. Little did I know, did I realize, the truth was it would listen as closely as I wanted. When I found that out, it shook me, just as the truth was shaking that lonely girl in front of me, for when she narrowed her eyes to study me, she must’ve spotted some features that were far too similar to ignore.

“No way,” she muttered, blindly reaching back for the door. “Who—no, _how_ is it you can be here? What are you trying to tell me? I’ll be a time-traveler by high school? That’s totally ridiculous.” She shot a look out the window. “But this whole place is ridiculous, isn’t it.”

“I’m not just a time-traveler. I’m here to tell you about something even more amazing,” I said to her. “By the time you’re my age, you’ll have met aliens, time-travelers, and espers many times over. They’ll be all around you. You won’t go a whole day without meeting or talking to one.”

“Really?” she asked. “They’ll be all over the place?”

“Not all over, just around you. You’ll be special to them. They’ll come from light-years away, from far in the future, to find you. You’ll be as big a mystery to them as they are to you. You’ll call some of them your friends.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad to me,” she said.

“Right? You’d think it’d be great, but it isn’t. They’re not like you. They don’t look for great mysteries in the universe because they can’t afford to. They’ll be trapped here; having to be around you makes them miserable, makes them give up everything they wanted.” I looked away. “Even someone you love, who loves you back, won’t be immune to that.”

“Haruhi, please,” said Kyon. “I know this has been a rough week, but that’s no reason to despair! That’s not you!”

You’re wrong, Kyon. This isn’t despair. This is the only way I can think about what’s happened, about the world I’ve made—not through my powers’ use so much as their existence alone, and that existence is what I’ve come to confront. You see, Mikuru-chan came to me. Old and worn down from traveling through time, she gave me a chance to make a choice above the influence of causality or history, and I understand that choice now.

I understand because this is the day I would’ve gained my powers.

This is the day I would’ve granted those abilities to myself.

“Powers?” said the middle-school girl. “What kind of powers? Time travel powers?”

Stunned, Kyon could only lower himself to my bed in silence.

“The power to make the universe bend to your will,” I clarified. “I’m supposed to give them to you and make you forget, so you won’t know what you can do. That’s what will bring us together—the club you’ll create, the SOS Brigade. Is that what you want me to do? Is that the kind of person you are—someone who’d want to have the world at her fingertips, even if it isolates you? Even if it makes your friends miserable? Is preserving the history you think you know really worth that?”

“No?” answered the middle-school girl. “Maybe? I—I don’t know…”

“So let’s find another way,” I said. “I have the power of the universe at my disposal.” I turned to Kyon. “I can make Yuki into that wonderful, shy, human girl again—or something between who she is now and who that person was. Koizumi-kun would never have to be an esper. Mikuru-chan could explore and learn about time without having to put up with me and be terrified for it. And you, Kyon—you wouldn’t have to pretend to yourself.”

Kyon shook his head, as gracefully yet forcefully as he could. “I can’t accept that, Haruhi. I won’t accept a man-made fantasy, and I don’t think the others would, either. The small-scale stuff Asahina-san does from time to time—messing with the past—I have my issues with it, but I accept it. Maybe that’s easier because it’s our present instead of the past to us, but what you’re suggesting, Haruhi, could make all of us unrecognizable to each other. I won’t stand for that. I don’t want to be a part of that. If you brought me here for nothing else than to speak my mind, then listen: you may think it’ll make things right by all of us, but I accept what’s happened. I don’t regret any of it. I’m begging you, Haruhi—don’t do this.”

With impassioned eloquence, Kyon had shaken my core with simple words, but I’d expected that from him. He could forgive what I’d done to him as something small; I was the one who couldn’t let it go, and I still couldn’t. The smallest bit of regret I couldn’t erase from my mind.

Instead, I faced the third person there—my younger self. “And you?” I asked her. “What do you think? I can make these changes for your future, forsaking myself that pleasure, that chance. You can have wonderful friends who actually want to be around you. You can have a world full of aliens and espers who seek the mysteries of the universe, as you do, and of ordinary people who believe in something greater, too. Is that what you want? I know it might not be easy; we might have to think long and hard on how to accomplish it, but it can be done, right? Anything’s possible.” I offered my hand. “Just come with me, and we can search through the endless possibilities together.”

She stared long and hard at me. I could tell the thought intrigued her. I saw the light go on in her eyes.

Or maybe it was a fire, a spark of angry passion, for she raised her hand and batted mine away.

“Are you stupid?” she cried.

Stupid? What? I offer everything you could ever want, I offer everything _I_ want, and you’re telling me I’m stupid?

“You’re not talking about using those powers of yours for anything fun,” she proclaimed. “Snapping your fingers and making people believe in the extraordinary? Transforming your friends and mine into happier, perfect people with no regrets or worries? Hah! I can’t think of anything more pointless, more meaningless! I’m Suzumiya Haruhi, and if I’m going to make people believe in the unbelievable, it’ll be because I knocked down their door and convinced them! If I’m going to make my friends happy, it’ll be by dragging them out of the house and showing them how amazing the world can be! Making it all so by a single thought—that’s _empty_.”

So it was. My own, younger self rejected me. Kyon rejected me. I should’ve known better, but I’d forgotten. This girl in front of me, frustrated though she may have been with the world, had never lost faith in its capacity to surprise and astound, but I…I made the pursuit of the incredible a substitute for living. I accepted the normal world only when I thought nothing would be found, but there’s only one world, and you have to accept everything in it or be doomed, as I was, to eternal dissatisfaction.

No longer. I’ll be dissatisfied, angry, and sad no longer—not because I’ll use powers to erase those emotions, but because I choose to feel differently. As long as I never forget that girl’s determination, I won’t need powers to do anything I choose.

Kyon put a supportive hand on my shoulder, nodding when he met my gaze, and all was decided. I deemed that girl worthy of wielding infinite power, knowing that she’d make mistakes. The past I accepted, regardless of the pain it’d caused me.

Thank you, Mikuru-chan. I’ve made a choice I’m comfortable with, one I know I won’t regret:

I want to see you all again.

I want to see you just the way you are.


	11. Epilogue

I realized that day there would always be obstacles to what we want, and in the past, I’d strived to break through those hurdles or circumvent them—to make people realize the mundane nature of their lives, to find something special in a world that wouldn’t look for it—but my younger, middle-school self understood what I’d forgotten: there’s nothing to be gained by making the hurdle disappear and dashing right through the space where it would’ve been.

In that sense, understanding the signs of a storm on the horizon was more important than witnessing the storm’s coming itself.

Kyon and I returned to the present, and all the problems I’d worried about over the past week I put aside. I went home. I had dinner with my parents. Father went on and on about a new graphical interface some company was making, and Mother tried to get me to proofread a new chapter of her story. They knew I wouldn’t scoff or laugh at them for talking about such things. My parents understood before I ever did that I’d accepted the world the way it was.

At school the next day, I was still distracted. That much I won’t deny, but I ate lunch and hung around the classroom during midday recess, walking Kyon and Kunikida through a nagging problem on modular arithmetic they both wanted figured out before afternoon session.

And, as a matter of fact, someone arrived late to school over lunch that day, too. Taniguchi shuffled his feet as he entered the classroom, earning some warm remarks from the rest of our class as they congratulated him on his recovery and return. As he put down his bag near Kyon’s desk to sit, he met my gaze and simply nodded. “Yo, Suzumiya.”

Hey, Taniguchi. You’re feeling better?

“I remember,” he said. “And that’s a start, right?”

That it is, Taniguchi. That it is. Thanks to memory, I could make a decision long overdue.

After lunch, I spent the rest of the day preparing a speech, the expression of what I wanted, and at the meeting of the brigade that afternoon, I addressed the room—not from the seat with the computer, the brigade chief’s chair, but by the doorway. The game of Go halted; Mikuru-chan set down the teapot, and Yuki, too, closed her book—a new, red paperback—to watch me as I spoke.

“Guys,” I said, “I won’t spend too long saying what I have to say. I know, for various reasons, you all were drawn here—drawn to me—without wanting it, that you may have stayed here, in the brigade, more or less to keep things the way they were and make me happy. Well, that won’t make me happy anymore, and I don’t need any of you to do that. To me, the SOS Brigade has done all it can under my leadership. That’s why…”

I undid the pin on my red armband and tossed the piece of cloth gently on the table.

“If the brigade wants to continue under someone else, I won’t oppose it, but I’ll leave my continued membership here to the new chief, if I’m welcome.”

There was a stunned silence. The others looked to one another, like they couldn’t believe their ears.

“Haruhi,” Kyon said at last, “what is this? How can you even think of leaving this brigade you created?”

“That’s right!” cried Mikuru-chan. “I can’t imagine what it’d be like without Suzumiya-san in charge.”

“Well, let’s not fret for too long,” said Koizumi-kun, picking up the armband with a pencil. “If the SOS Brigade no longer has a leader, then it seems appropriate to nominate a candidate, yes? In that case, I think the choice is natural.”

He slung the armband forward, propelling it into Kyon’s lap.

“Oh no,” said Kyon. “No way. Absolutely not. I won’t—”

“But I think we’d all support it,” said Koizumi-kun. “Even Nagato-san, yes?”

“No objection,” she said.

“And,” Koizumi-kun went on, “our new leader would permit Suzumiya-san’s continued presence in the brigade, wouldn’t he?”

Kyon cracked a wry smile. “I suppose so, yes.”

I bowed. “I’m at your disposal, then, Brigade Chief.”

He made a face. “I’m _not_ wearing an armband.”

I’m not telling how, but we got him to wear the armband, at least part of the time, as the brigade’s first activity under the Kyon Administration came with his explicit approval. We made flyers, you see. Not for the brigade, mind you, but for a little independent theater in Ashiya that was performing a Western play. We ran off a stack of flyers and plastered them all around the school. That way, all our classmates would see the photo of Mori-san in her Pilgrim’s bonnet and costume, and maybe some of them would journey out there to see her perform. No powers necessary—we would give Mori-san’s a career a boost with just the sweat of our brows.

A job well done, we adjourned, but though Yuki was first to leave as usual, when I locked up the clubroom for the day, she was still outside, waiting for me.

“I am sorry,” she said.

Nothing to be sorry about, as far as I was concerned. You were honest about how you felt; I can’t begrudge you for that. “You were right,” I told her. “We haven’t really been friends the way I wanted. Maybe we can start getting to know each other for real from now on?”

She nodded. “Acceptable.”

I smiled. It was a bit early to show her affection more strongly than that, but with time, we’d learn. “Well,” I said, “have a good afternoon, Yuki.”

“Wait.”

I stopped.

“A request,” she said.

What request?

“I am alone.”

Alone, the only one of her kind left. I fished through my pocket, finding the blue marble. “Yuki,” I said, “are you sure?”

She nodded earnestly, and it was a request I couldn’t ignore. I stared into the shimmering azure sphere, and the glow of it, the energy inside, began to leak out. It spread and spread, flowing through the ceiling, the floor, the sides of the hallway.

And a cluster of blue data stuff coalesced before us, taking on a familiar form.

“Well, this _is_ unexpected,” said Asakura. “I thought you would truly leave us there forever, Suzumiya-san. Why the change of heart?”

“I’m not eager to be your jailer for all eternity,” I said. “Listen carefully and take this to your boss: the lot of you can go off and do whatever it is you people do, but I’ll _always_ be watching you. If I find out you’ve done something wrong, if Yuki tells me you’ve been hurting people or messing with the cosmic order for your silly games, you know where you’ll end up, and I won’t be so inclined to change my mind again. As for Yuki, she gets to stay here on Earth as long as she likes. The rest of you I expect to leave as soon as possible. You’re no longer welcome here.”

Asakura shook her head. “As long as we’re free, we’ll be looking at you, Suzumiya-san. You must know this. Even if we’re not on Earth, we’ll be watching.”

I scoffed. Did she really think I hadn’t thought of that? “You can watch me from afar all you like,” I said. “You’re totally free to fixate on the one thing you think will justify your existence and give you satisfaction. Whatever. I know what that will do to you. If it takes you another fourteen billion years to figure out that will lead nowhere, so be it. I hope you find something else, though—some other purpose that will make you realize how foolish this obsession with me has been, and not just for my sake, either.”

“Then why?” she asked.

So you don’t make the same mistakes I made, looking for the fantastic to the exclusion of everything else.

Puzzled by my silence, Asakura clapped her hands together. “Well, I suppose it’s time to go. See you soon, Suzumiya-san, Nagato-san?”

Yuki shook her head gently. “Goodbye.”

Asakura’s expression changed—was that a flash of regret?—but before I could look more closely, she was gone.

“Thank you,” said Yuki, and she walked off with silent footsteps, but I could tell she was relieved. Maybe, in that respect, I’d started learning from Kyon.

  


The rest of the week was largely uneventful, save for a quiet conversation I had with the new brigade chief after activities had finished on Thursday. It involved the prospect of a quick cup of coffee Saturday afternoon and, maybe, a two-person citywide search if we didn’t want to bother the others. In fact, when I brought that last part up, Kyon insisted on it.

“The only question, then,” he went on, “is whether we’re calling it a date.”

Oh, so there’s no question of what we’re doing after?

“After? What—” He looked away for a moment, and I could practically see through his eyes exactly what he was imagining. “Wait, wait a minute, why are we talking about after?!”

We decided on two things after that: it was a date, and there needn’t be any particular happenings after the date was finished.

At least, not for a while.

Of course, word of our plans somehow got out among the rest of the class, and it was interesting—if also a bit embarrassing—to hear how many people referred to me as Kyon’s girlfriend versus him as my boyfriend (the official SOS Brigade poll put that at a one-to-two ratio, by the way, which on the whole I was very satisfied with). By Saturday afternoon, though, I had to face the two people most interested in my love life of all.

My parents.

“No, no, Haruhi, I don’t think that outfit will do,” said Mother as I was walking out the door. “Please, come back, I think I can add something to it. You want to stand out for him, don’t you? Your outfit needs some white; it needs balance. I have just the thing.”

Father hardly looked up from his position in front of the television, typing away at his laptop. “You want to sew wings on her back, don’t you.”

“Of course not!” Mother tilted her head. “Actually…”

Mother, I am _not_ wearing a magical girl outfit on a date.

“And just who is it you’re seeing again, Kitten?” asked Father. “It’s not that friend of yours from your club, is it?”

No…maybe…

“Aha!” he cried. “I knew it. Well, not to worry, Kitten. I had a full background check pulled on him, and the only issue of note seems to be the origin of that bizarre nickname of his.”

“Dear, you did not!” exclaimed Mother.

“I didn’t find out your name because your roommate told me,” he said.

“You didn’t?”

He shook his head.

“That’s frightfully romantic of you,” she said. “It’s too bad the obsessive, stalker overtones really undercut the sentiment, though.”

“Anyway,” I cut in, “Father, please don’t go to Kyon’s again to grill him. I promise I’ll be back in a timely manner, all right?”

He chuckled. “Have a good time, Kitten.”

“Don’t forget, Haruhi,” said Mother, “the Person Just For You doesn’t ask to press your special button on the first date.”

Are you serious, Mother? I’m not Kyon’s magical robot girlfriend!

…though it’s a bit scary to realize only one of those words doesn’t fit.

Really, I don’t know how I’ve survived these parents as well as I have. I bolted out the door before I could hear more about protecting my “magic place” with “special incantations” or whatever, and I made it to the café with time to spare. We’d both agreed on a meeting time of three o’clock, which meant Kyon would arrive at two…

And I got there at one-thirty.

Well, in fairness, he was the brigade chief, so he could easily impose a penalty for being too early instead, though I knew that wasn’t his way. Even if there were no penalties on the line, I felt like this was a little game we could play, something with no rhyme or reason behind it. It would mean something to us always, long after the real point had been forgotten.

That’s why I waited patiently at the corner of the triangular island, watching the big clock in the middle tick away, when suddenly, there was tug on the fabric of my skirt.

“Excuse me,” said a quiet, high-pitched voice. “Are you waiting for someone, Sister?”

It was a little girl with dark hair, braided in pigtails. Her tiny hand was engulfed by her mother’s. The woman quickly chided her daughter, pulling her aside.

“Megumi, what have I told you about bothering strangers?” She looked to me apologetically. “I’m sorry, Young Lady. She’s just so inquisitive. She’ll point to the stars and ask me or my husband if there are aliens up there, if they’re looking back at us. Quite silly, isn’t it?”

I smiled to myself. “Not at all. Megumi-chan, is it?” I crouched down, catching her eye. “You’re a sharp little girl, I think, but you should listen to your mother, all right?”

She nodded dutifully, her pigtails flopping about behind her.

“Just between you and me, though,” I whispered, “it’s good to keep asking questions and looking for secret things around you. In fact, can you keep a secret?”

“Yeah!”

“Good,” I said. “Here, show me your hand.”

She opened her palm, and in the center, I placed the hundred-yen coin. Already, the girl’s were fixed on that object with curiosity. I could’ve told her a tall tale about aliens, time-travelers, and espers and how that coin was a part of their story. I could’ve made that coin change before her eyes, but I decided on something simple. It’s too easy to convince people of amazing things when you can show them infinite power, and a little girl’s mind won’t dismiss something contrary to the reality she’s taught, not the way an adult would.

“This coin is magical,” I told her. “If you concentrate really hard, you can make it change into a fifty-yen coin and back again.”

“Why would you want to change a hundred-yen coin into a fifty?” asked the mother.

“Because it’s cool!” cried little Megumi.

“Because it’s cool,” I answered back.

The mother looked at us both like we were lizard people in human form. “Come along, Megumi,” she said, pulling at her daughter’s hand, but I caught the little girl holding the coin to her eye, studying it, gazing at it intently. She wouldn’t soon forget the story of the coin and what it could do.

And I no longer needed such a thing to remind myself how amazing the world could be.

“She’s going to be a pioneer,” said a voice. “A forerunner in the science of mental manipulation of the physical world. Telekinesis, you might call it. There will be monuments to her.”

I turned to the source, and sure enough, there she was—the woman in the red yukata, the old Mikuru-chan.

“I think now,” she went on, “I realize anyone can be manipulated by others with foreknowledge of time. The key is in making a genuine, honest choice whenever you can. After that, history will care for itself.” She simpered. “Then again, it’s very different, being on this side of things again after so long. I’d almost forgotten what it’s like to have others keep secrets from you.”

“What do you mean?” I asked her. “I made the right choice, didn’t I? I did what I felt in my heart, and everything’s still here. Is there something else I should’ve done?”

“Oh no, no,” she said. “It’s just—I realize now even my actions were manipulated, albeit with the best of intentions.”

“By who?”

Mikuru-chan raised an eyebrow. “Strange. I thought you would’ve figured that out by now. Well, let’s just call it classified information and leave it at that. What do you think you’ll do now, Suzumiya-san?”

I took the empty blue marble from my pocket, and it hovered over my open hand. It’s fun having powers when you’re not worried about trying to fix things with them, but just because the brigade’s going to be okay doesn’t mean everything else is settled and done. There are still espers who might not want to stay that way. People were hurt or died at the stadium thanks to Asakura—Rooter, too. Do I bring them back just because I was involved? There are bad things happening to people all the time. Really, these are questions of such weight and gravity that trying to answer them all at once would be crazy!

And I’m still young. I have time to think deeply and try to do the best I can.

“Truer words have never been said,” Mikuru-chan observed. “I know you’ll apply yourself to these concerns with confidence and enthusiasm.”

“Because you’re from the future and know what I’ll do?”

She chuckled. “Even I can’t know everything you’ll ever do, Suzumiya-san.”

Why not?

“Well…”

She looked over her shoulder, and I followed her gaze to a woman sitting with her back to us—a woman in a red top, wearing a baseball cap.

“Because the story of Suzumiya Haruhi isn’t yet finished,” said Mikuru-chan. “Even for me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think you have a date?”

How do you know that?

She smiled. “If nothing else, I _am_ from the future, right?”

With a spring in her step, Mikuru-chan headed to the crosswalk, and the woman in the red top followed. She had long, dark hair, and as they waited for a gap in the traffic, she took off the cap, placing it on Mikuru-chan’s head.

“What’s that for?” asked Mikuru-chan.

“I’m returning something lent to me.” The woman in the red top glanced back, winking. That’s why Mikuru-chan couldn’t know everything I’d ever do.

I was still with her. Maybe I’d endured the centuries to find her again, or maybe I just took a shortcut after university to see what the future really was like. The details didn’t matter; I’d decide how I wanted to do it soon enough.

And for the moment, there was one thing I had in mind to do.

“You’re early, Haruhi.”

In the corner of my eye, I spotted a guy in a green, collared shirt and light khaki pants with brown shoes. Not bad, Kyon. You look sharp.

“The new brigade chief has to dress to impress his predecessor, right?”

Color me impressed, then. In fact, you’ll make the perfect conspirator for my new plan.

He huffed. “And I thought I was the brigade chief.”

This isn’t for the brigade. This is for all the people of the world. Let’s show humanity how big and amazing the universe is—just you and me, Kyon.

“No powers?” he asked.

Wouldn’t be any fun if I just twitched my nose and made it happen, now would it?

He stifled a laugh. “Somehow, I’m not surprised this is your idea of a date.”

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“True that,” he said. “Well, shall we figure out how to open the minds of a few billion people over a cup or two from the café?”

I could think of no better way to start. We headed inside and spoke about many things. We discussed Mikuru-chan’s costumes and the theories of Professor Freud. We talked about where the brigade was headed under his leadership. We speculated on the future of time-travelers, aliens, and espers—or rather, how to tell the world about them and when.

We were in no hurry to reveal those truths, for the world would be just as spectacular all the same, and though we’d planned to see a movie later that day, we just kept chatting at the café until well after dark.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the course of eleven books about the adventures of the SOS Brigade, Haruhi Suzumiya has come out of the spotlight a bit, apparently having come to terms with the nature of the world and the people in it. I admit, when I began this story, I started with the premise that that wasn’t the case, that Haruhi might’ve believed it but nothing could really quell that spirit for adventure and the extraordinary. Hence, this piece was always meant to have Haruhi reexamine her priorities and explicitly set about a new direction—something I feel she has indeed done.
> 
> Nevertheless, I can’t say this story has turned out exactly the way I envisioned it, but for that, I have only the honest and careful feedback of other writers and readers to thank. My sincerest gratitude to Brian Randall, Arakawa Seijio, and others still who’ve given me insights big and small into the interpretation of this story.
> 
> Finally, I can’t say when I will be back in the world of Haruhi Suzumiya. _Identity_ is the _Ranma 1/2_ epic I’ve been working on, and that’s the project I’ll be continuing. If that’s not your cup of tea, I have an _Evangelion_ novel planned— _The Coming of the First Ones_ —as well as two other _Haruhi_ novels— _Unhandled Exception_ and _The Other Face_ —but I can’t say when I’ll be writing them. I hope, if you’ve read this story, you’ll try some of my other work, but I’m thankful enough if you’ve read this far. The world of Haruhi Suzumiya is infinite in possibilities, and so is the capacity to tell stories in it. For this reason, I’m confident we will meet again.
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> Muphrid
> 
> December 29, 2011


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